


When the Sun Sets

by panda_shi



Series: Rebirth [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes Feels, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Communication Failure, Depression, Falling In Love, Graphic Description, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Heartache, Heartbreaking, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, Lack of Communication, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve, References to Depression, Sad, Steve Rogers Feels, Tissue Warning, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony-centric, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-12-17 16:16:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11855208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_shi/pseuds/panda_shi
Summary: Shattering the stones on Thanos' gauntlet was meant to end the war and his tyranny. There was always a slim chance of surviving and Tony knew if he got to the gauntlet first, if closes his eyes this time for good, he knew that would be ready to face whoever it was that was waiting for him at the gates of whatever and be proud to say that he's no longer the man with everything and nothing.Except when he opened his eyes this time, it's not the end, but a different time where everything he knew, had worked and loved for doesn't exist. How do you even begin to try to go home in a world where everything you have come to know doesn't existyet. When you're stuck at the beginning, how do you even move forward?(Tony thinks his name should be added to the dictionary, right next to self-loathing and regret.)A sequel toWhen the Sun RisesON HOLD/HIATUS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE





	1. Total days since arrival: 01

**Author's Note:**

> I am my own beta -- I proof-read all by myself so I may miss some stuff. This is an ever-green story and is continoulsy being re-read and edited for typos/errors/etc. Tags to be added as the story moves forward. There is a possibility of a one-sided StOny romance.
> 
> I can't let this universe go no thanks to [Nova_Arcania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nova_Arcania) who put the idea of world switching and whatnot. So here it is, Tony going back in time and trying to get home?

[“Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.”  
― ](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21616.Ann_M_Martin) [J.M. Barrie](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5255014.J_M_Barrie) [, ](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21616.Ann_M_Martin) [Peter Pan](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1358908)

Tony _hears_ the impossible to contain power before he even sees it. 

It takes nothing but all of five seconds when the gauntlet is ripped free, gold gleaming amidst the sea of orange and red fires, of broken concrete and leveled earth. It takes another two for Thanos to fall and another two seconds for Tony’s suit to surge forward with the last of its power, picking up the broken piece of Captain America’s shield and bring it down on the gauntlet. 

Power, Tony realizes, as he finally sees the stones crack and destabilize under the impact of the crushing blow, sounds and looks exactly like death. 

At his lowest points, Tony had envisioned his end to come when he is in solitude. He had caught a glimpse of death far too many times to keep track of, way beyond the ten digits of both his hand. Power, like death, comes with a distant ring that drowns out everything else around you. Great and frighteningly destructive power is like a black-hole that sucks you in, drawing you to an invisible center even as you drive the cracked edges of vibranium against the jeweled surfaces of the stones. All kinds of matters pulls downwards-center, warping reality around you in a blur, and just when your grip around the edges of the broken shield slip, just as you _hear_ the metal of your suit crinkle with the force of all that power, the ringing _stops_.

Great power implodes in at the same time it explodes _out_. 

Tony doesn’t hear the screams around him. 

Doesn’t see the fires and broken glass, bent steel and shattered concrete that is New York – Ground Zero. 

All he sees is the darkness and in the black sea of it, the gleaming specs of colored jewel shards floating above the sharp edges of the broken shield, almost as fine as dust, and for a moment, Tony thinks he sees the universe and the gleam of a billion stars flash before him. 

It doesn’t last for more than a nano-second, far too fleeting for him to absorb before his chest being pushed forward, and for the first time, in all his years, Tony finds no regret in dying.

He isn’t the man with everything and nothing – not anymore. Not since James.

Tony thinks Yinsen might just smile if he tells him that. 

\--

But the blackness doesn’t stay black forever. Not really.

Tony's chest _heave_ inwards, then outwards, just like the infinity stones's power before his mouth parts open involuntarily in an attempt to suck in breath. Tony tastes ash and soot, the sharp tang of metal sticking the back of his throat as he stares up at the clearest blue skies, not a cloud in sight and the most foreign lull of peace that he had almost forgotten since that tyrant, that _monster_ , had cast a shadow over the sun. Tony's breath chokes in his throat, sudden, unexpected, just as he catches the last of trail of the Hulk’s _rage_ , the Hulk that he remembers seeing falling down and blowing a crater on the earth, the Hulk that didn’t get up after that – Tony stares at the green eyes of one of his closest friends, just as his eyes blurs with a film of salt that threatens to build up to an entire ocean.

Then he sees the familiar blue, with the tiniest specs of green loom over him, face worried, panicked even -- but then it morphs to open relief, and dare he say absolute _joy_. Tony watches the tension _melt_ away from Steve’s face, watches how his shoulder _sag_ with respite and how he flops back down on the cracked concrete. Tony manages to find his voice to ask what happened, syllables shaky and coming apart from every angle, just as JARVIS comes back online, the communication line of the suit he hasn’t worn in _years_ crackles back, Natasha and Clint calling in to affirm that the  skies are clear and that the Chitauri has been completely neutralized.

“We won,” Steve says.

Tony says nothing.

He continues not to as the not so new and oh so familiar world before him proceeds to unfold before his eyes.

And if he drowns in the sounds of his heart coming apart piece by piece, whatever that is left of it as the scene of capturing and detaining Loki unfolds before his disbelieving eyes, if he drowns in the vacuum of what honest to god feels like death _anyway_ , no one knows, except him.

  
TBC 


	2. Total days since arrival: 08

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am my own beta -- I proof-read all by myself so I may miss some stuff. This is an ever-green story and is continoulsy being re-read and edited for typos/errors/etc. Tags to be added as the story moves forward. There is a possibility of a one-sided StOny romance.
> 
> I can't let this universe go no thanks to Nova_Arcania who put the idea of world switching and whatnot. So here it is, Tony going back in time and trying to get home?

**“Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.”**  
**― J.M. Barrie , Peter Pan**

  
This time, Tony does not insist on shawarma.

This time, instead of being the propagator of team bonding, the one who insists on celebrating the little things and the big things, Tony remains distant and quiet, trying to orient himself in a world that had been his too, once upon a time ago.

This time, he pours two stiff drinks on the counter, while the rest of the Avengers surround the unconscious god on the floor, weapons poised and ready to strike. He drinks one glass and when Loki asks for a drink, just like how Tony remembers he would, his grip on the second glass tightens in an involuntary clench, and then trembles at the familiarity of those words. He doesn’t approach them, he doesn’t join them, and when he locks gazes with the prisoner, this man who had also played a pivotal role in bringing Thanos down, Tony shrugs in his direction, raises the second glass in a mockery of a toast and then drains it in one go without a flinch.

He leaves the entire team to handle the mess, leaves them all to take care of things with SHIELD and makes his way to what is left of his workshop in Stark Tower, where the presence of his bots are absent because he doesn’t live in the tower, not yet. Tony knows when he will move in and it’s not for the next nine or so months; that had been a temporary arrangement shortly after the destruction of his Malibu home and that entire ordeal with Killian and the Mandarin. Tony thinks that standing in a lab and workshop that he hasn’t seen in years is a little like seeing a ghost for the first time. He sees JARVIS prepping the suit bay, the smooth voice filling the wide space informing him of the damages the current suit he had on had sustained and the amount of time it would take to fabricate the necessary parts for the repairs.

Tony doesn’t hear it though, because he’s not listening to JARVIS’ reports, but rather is just listening to the smoothness of his voice, how the tenors alternate with each syllable, how he almost clicks his tongue in disapproval behind words without quite doing so. Tony wonders what JARVIS would say if he steps out of the suit and notices that the arc reactor is no longer present. He wonders if JARVIS would pause, the way Vision would pause and regard with him that sympathetic gaze, the one says, ‘Oh Tony, what have you done?’ Tony doesn’t mull over it longer than perhaps a minute or two before he disengages the suit manually and steps out of it.

The silence that follows, as he predicts, is thick and almost hesitant.

“Sir,” JARVIS begins, almost apprehensive; he should be. “I had presumed that it had probably been the faulty sensors considering the suit’s damage, however, my back up data readings from the battle against the Chitauri and my current readings do not match. I am currently detecting far more severe contusions and –“

“Mute.” Tony says softly, and hisses as he sits himself down on the bench, closing his eyes and propping his left arm on the table.

The under-suit he had on is darker, soaking in blood and caking in some parts. Tony knows that if he peels it off now, he risks making a bigger mess. He sees a large patch on his right side from where he had been knocked back from the impact, where his suit had crinkled like it were paper under Thanos’ fist. There is a slight catch on his right leg too, how the fabric of his under suit in that area is darker and now that he isn’t encased in metal, it is also wet. There is a slight tear in the fabric, but it's also probably the only thing keeping the rest of him intact. Tony knows that the damage had started mend, because if he didn’t have Extremis, he wouldn’t have been able to stand or put any weight on that leg.

He doesn’t attend to his injuries.

He doesn’t even try.

The first thing Tony does is look up and confirm his current timeline, going through thousands of terrabytes worth of data and combing through the world’s network. It takes no less than five minutes to comprehend what he’s seeing before him, and another fifteen to write in extra security codes and his necessary updated profile and information into JARVIS mainframe, just as the sluggish pull of his wounds starts to set in, the lack of adrenaline finally slowing him down. He throws in a new physical holographic form for JARVIS too, completely changing the image he had in mind from years ago when he had been so lost in his grief, to something different, something that hopefully, will remind him that this is not the JARVIS he had buried under the ground just weeks after his parents’ death, nor is this Vision who he wishes with all his heart, had somehow made it through the battle with Thanos.

When Tony blinks and comes to, disconnecting from the noisy world of the web and his servers, he watches as JARVIS appears before him, a gracefully aged forty-year old, all sharp lines, clean cut features, lean and quite tall, dressed in tan leather brogue shoes, slim flat front gray trousers, a button down crisp white shirt and a navy wool tailored blazer. He doesn’t have blue eyes like Vision or the specs that Jarvis had taken to wearing as his eyesight weakened with age. Instead, JARVIS now had bright golden amber eyes, almost the same shade as his coding, with jet black hair that is the complete opposite of the ashy blonde or thinning silver gray that Tony remembers vividly.

“If I do so say so, sir, designing me after a Marks and Spencer’s magazine model is quite flattering.” JARVIS says, as he pushes his hands into his pocket and his lips quirk in a more open and disarming smile, showing a row of perfect white teeth. JARVIS is a complete polar opposite of everything and anything Tony may have had from memory or his imagination – Tony hopes that the difference will push him to making the mental disassociation as soon as possible. “Also, it is an honor to meet you, Mister Stark.”

“It’s good to see you, J…” Tony says, soft and tired.

“How do you wish for me to proceed in assisting you with your return home?”

“Help me blend in first. Get me a jet to Malibu. No one gets in.” Tony stands and winces as his hands grips the edge of the worktable and he sucks in a deep and very sharp breath. “I’m gonna try to clean up; let me know once the jet is here?”

“Yes, sir. Also, sir, Miss Potts is currently on call waiting.”

“Tell her to meet me in Malibu.” Tony says, limping his way towards the connecting bathroom.

  
Before JARVIS can point out Pepper’s insistence, Tony activates a lockdown, leaving JARVIS to begin the task of back himself up into a new bot for safekeeping and prepping for his departure to Malibu.

Getting out of the under-suit proves to be excruciating, as Tony sits himself in the shower, and carefully peels the stickiness away, revealing molten and misshapen bruises and several deep cuts that will require stitches. Tony doesn’t count the minutes that go by as he grits his teeth and breathes harshly through his nose, doesn’t think of his teammates who may be looking for him as he kicks off the suit to side of the shower stall, panting and feeling like his chest is about to sink and collapse against the column of his spine. He sits there, delirious with the pain and the splash of warm water, steam clouding his surroundings as he struggles to breathe, rivulets of crimson water swirling into the drain as his wounds, while still open and bleeding, starts to mend itself. And in the warm mist of the showers, Tony sees the destruction of his home, the desperation of heroes and mutants alike standing up to protect their world come together, as city after city collapses and rips before their very eyes, and the body count start to resemble like clustered pebbles. Tony's reality catches up to him as he covers his eyes with the heels of his palms, scrunching his eyelids shut in the wake of the silence of a world far too peaceful, when all they had to worry about is a prissy temper of a god craving power and a throne. After that, at most, they had to worry about team strategies and the smaller near insignificant missions to eliminate HYDRA and maintain order.

This world is filled with naiveté – they do not know what is coming for them.

In the wake of the silence, Tony is left to wonder if he can ever go home, if home is even still there to begin with. On his own, curled up. bleeding and shaking like it is winter under the hot spray, Tony grits his teeth and wonders if destroying the gauntlet had worked. He wonders how many of those men and women had survived, if those children from the Academy who had to be forced to be adults far too soon had made it; if not, how many tombstones will be lining the cemetery this time? How gigantic of a monument will they have to build to honor those who have served and given their lives for mankind?

Tony wonders if he’ll ever go home and find out.

And in the midst of ever so slowly coiling tension in his veins, as the soot and blood washes off along with the salty ocean in his eyes, in the solace of the gray tiles of his workshop bathroom that no longer exists in his world, Tony catches a glimpse of the thin band on his left ring finger, the metal scratched along the surface, cool and gleaming under the harsh lighting.

Tony takes one look at it, and wonders if Bucky had made it.

\--

The Wakandan sky had been cloudy that night, rainfall looming over the distance as Tony finalizes the last of the upgrades on Bucky’s gauntlet in the privacy of the room they had been so graciously provided with by T’challa. It’s wide and vast, airy with ceiling high windows and a gleam of gold marble, its interiors befitting to be part of the royal palace. Tony isn’t even supposed to be in Wakanda, he is supposed to be in New York. After two of Thanos’ children had fallen in Tokyo and Seoul, leaving the land mass to almost nothing of its former thriving metropolis, they had but precious moments to regroup and re-align their forces. Satellite readings show that there is a flux of activity detected around the desert area of Somalia; a response team had already been dispatched to evacuate nearby towns and villages.

In less than an hour, Bucky along with T’challa and his army will be making their ways to the coast of Somalia to fight off the oncoming onslaught of Thanos’ army.

The last screw slots in and Tony carefully stands and starts to put his tools away. Bucky had remained unmoving on a chair across from Tony, his gaze tracking Tony’s every movement, the silence thick between them. Tony flicks a glance at him and fills that silence with talks of the new upgrade; Bucky still doesn’t move, doesn’t even say anything, with his arm in a sling to minimize pain until the healing has done its job. His face is less swollen than what it had been two hours ago, most of the yellowish tint of his bruises receding, leaving behind a swath of purple and blue along the side of his jaw and just around his right eye. Tony knows that under the t-shirt Bucky is wearing, there is a different story all together, with tight bindings that holds quickly mending ribs in place and stitches along his left thigh almost a foot long. Bucky opens his mouth to say something, but Tony beats him to it by starting up talk on field reports he had received hours ago from SHIELD operatives; Bucky doesn’t stop him, doesn’t put a cork to the nervous spill words rolling past Tony’s tongue, doesn’t stop him from pacing and slamming tool boxes shut. He says nothing when Tony makes a mess when he pumps a little too much hand sanitizer into his hands, and remains silent even when Tony just starts cursing.

Tony curses out of nervousness, curses because while his title as SHIELD’s director holds merit, in the wake of the battle they had just fought off in Tokyo, Seoul and partly in New York and DC, it doesn’t even fucking matter. He is made privy of the body count, which shows absolutely no signs of slowing down. The Iron Legion – his so called suit of armor around the world – had bought them at most, a good two hours, barely enough of a response or containment unit before the world’s soldiers had stepped up to the task. Tony still sees the flashing red sixty percent success rates on the report of civilian evacuation that he had read during his flight to Wakanda. Tony shakes his head and swears loudly again, the last syllable of his raw fuck echoing and reverberating around the room.

Tony gestures helplessly at the gauntlet on the table, swallowing past the well of guilt and failure that is balling up in his throat. “Would you please try it on and let me know if it’s okay?”

“It’s fine…” Bucky says, soft and almost like an exhale.

“James, please, for fuck’s sake, just try it on. I am not – I will not send you out on the field with a half-assed repair and risk your life because of it.” Tony says, running his fingers through his hair and sucking in deep and extremely measured breaths through his nose, eyes scrunching shut as a million thoughts crosses his mind.

“Hey,” James says, getting in Tony’s space, both warm and calloused hands pressing against the clammy skin of Tony’s neck, thumbs caressing the sharp cut of Tony’s jaw and its five ‘clock shadow, trying to ease the protest that Tony feels rising up his throat. “No, no, look at me – look at me!” James urges and presses their foreheads together. “It’s fine. Don’t – no, don’t look at it, just look at me. I got you…”

And Tony does look at Bucky, and like every single time, he drowns in the clear as a winter lake irises, watching as the blue disappear into a sea of black as Bucky’s pupil’s dilate. Tony hasn’t had the time or even a pause in anything ever since Thanos children had touched down in Tokyo and New York, and his army had crawled all over DC like a swarm of locusts. Tony hasn’t had the time to breathe the way he does now as Bucky’s arm wraps around his shoulder, fingers spreading around the back of his skull.

“What if trying isn’t enough?” Tony asks, swallowing and closing his eyes. “James, what if trying isn’t good enough?”

“There’s only one way to find out.” Bucky murmurs, soft and quiet. “It’s all we can do right? Try to fight this off? Try to win? Try to go home?”

“Yeah…” Tony exhales and quirks a weak smile. “Yeah…”

“I wanna go home too, Tony.” Bucky says, and shakes his head. “With you.”

Tony nods, and can only nod even as Bucky takes a step back and reaches into his pocket, freeing his arm from the sling. There are no words, no fireworks, no fancy speeches about wanting to grow old together or spend the rest of his remaining days with Tony, or talks about adopting pets or children or whatever else people going to war promise each other; promises that are honestly made to be broken. Bucky doesn’t tell Tony he’d give him the world, or fight for him, or any of that jazz. He doesn’t say anything. Bucky just takes Tony’s hand, and without meeting his gaze, carefully slides on the plain silver band onto his finger and stares at it. The fear gives way to regret because Tony doesn’t know if he’ll even see Bucky after Somalia, doesn’t know if Bucky will survive this round of the fight, or if he himself will survive New York, where the alert of fluctuating radiation had come through just twenty minutes ago.  
  
Tony doesn’t know if they’ll ever go home.

But like every single time since they started this thing between them, Tony finds himself at the receiving end of the look Bucky gives him, the kind that softens his face and makes him look so,  _so_ young, so handsome, and god, he’s so fucking beautiful – there is nothing but devotion in Bucky’s gaze, how his lips quirk just the tiniest bit, partly in suppressed heartache because of their current situation, but mostly in what Tony thinks is what he can only describe as joy, and maybe a little bit of smug self-satisfaction.

In the space of two seconds, Tony's heart swells so big under his ribs, is suddenly full, pumping hard and so alive that it’s a wonder it had ever been broken, shattered and betrayed at all.

Just as it drops to the earth’s core because if anything, this is also almost feels like a goodbye.  
  
So Tony closes the distance between them, coaxing Bucky’s jaw up with his hand and sealing their mouths together. He doesn’t stop the desperate and nervous jitter that thrums under Bucky’s skin, as he reaches forward and pulls Tony’s shirt off his head. Bucky doesn’t even fight it when Tony steps into the adjoining bedroom, their lips following each other even as Tony pushes Bucky against the mattress and climbs over him after stepping out of his pants. The non-descript sweats Bucky had been given at the medical bay joins Tony’s on the ground and he’s crawling after Bucky, Bucky who scoots back against the headboard, Bucky who leans back against it, Bucky who opens his mouth under Tony as he presses their cocks together in his fists, stroking them both in tandem as their tongues and breaths mingle and fill the space around that that is so thick with silence.

Tony doesn’t forget the incredibly sharp pain in his backside as he takes Bucky in, hesitantly prepped and completely uncaring, or how Bucky’s teeth breaks the skin on his shoulder when he shakes and groans with the pleasure he feels as he slides home. Tony doesn’t forget how Bucky looks at him that night, how the slack of his mouth had curved up onto a smile, just barely there, or how hard he comes, or how the heat that fills Tony's body is like drowning in the ocean under a wondrous summer sky. Tony doesn’t forget the sound that leaves his throat, or Bucky’s, when Bucky pulls out of him and they lay there spread on the bed. He doesn’t forget how Bucky turns to throw his arm around him, how he props himself up and looks down at him with the smile that can truly light up the world.

Tony thinks he goes blind for a second, at the joy that is there on Bucky’s face, how there is no inkling of fear at all of what is to come, or what he is going to fight off with Wakanda’s king and army in just a few hours.

It makes Tony wonder how he can be this lucky.

And Bucky says, soft like it’s a secret against the nape of his neck, “I’m the happiest when I’m with you. I don't know how to be scared because I have you.”

(You had never felt joy like the way you did in that very moment.)

\--

Tony blinks himself awake when he hears JARVIS’ voice, the morning sunlight pouring from the open jet blinds, the empty tarmac and distant gleam of buildings glinting in the distance. The familiarity of it makes Tony sigh rather wistfully – once upon a time, he would have looked it all with a little bit of love-hate and would have called it home. Now, it is nothing more than a ghost of his past, because home, for him, is somewhere far, far away, and can possibly be nothing more than distant memory.

He reaches up to rub the back of his neck, where he can still feel the brush of warm lips. The memory of Bucky's lips makes Tony's bones _ache_ with a longing he had not known to be capable of.

“Disembarkation checks complete. Shall I open the doors, sir? Mister Hogan has been yawning non-stop.” JARVIS says, standing in his holographic glory by the jet’s doors.

“I’m yawning too, buddy," Tony says, and promptly yawns on queue. “Let’s get out of here,” He says, standing up, stretching his limbs and popping his joints from how he had fallen asleep on the chair, reaching up to brush his fingers through his hair and promptly canning his personal issues with a lid.

(There’s no time to feel sorry for yourself, to mourn something that isn’t lost yet. Not till you’ve completed your work.)

Happy stands outside the parked Mercedes like a sentinel, hands behind his back and in his favored choice of suit. This Happy is still a little on the heavy side, carrying most of his weight on his belly. The Happy Tony knows back home had slimmed down considerably after being warned of Hypertension and surviving the Mandarin. And like Tony expects, Happy pulls off his aviators to really look at him, eyebrows going up to his hairline and unable to keep the surprise off his face.

Tony had managed to evade the prying eyes of the team, purposely not taking off the suit that disguised almost everything about him; one look at his haircut and Steve or Natasha or Clint would have known something had been up – Tony looks nothing like the Tony these people are familiar with. He had never fully gained his bulk after the long coma, and as a result looks a lot more slender. He had also maintained the pompadour, and at the recommendation of his stylist, had dyed it darker. It would take people a full minute to say he is a spitting image of Howard now, as opposed to how easily and without hesitation the comparison had been thrown at him in the past.

So Happy looking puzzled is to be expected.

Tony isn’t sure why he remains nervous despite expecting the expected; he shoves his left hand into his denim pockets, hiding the glint of the ring that he cannot bring himself to take off at all.  
  
“Wow, Boss. You look like those aliens really handed it to you,” Happy says, and Tony doesn’t fight it when he gets enveloped in a gentle and careful embrace; it is moments like this when Tony thanks Extremis from the pits of his soul for knitting his old body back together. No doubt, the embrace – let alone standing up right – would have been impossible if it hadn’t been for the virus.

“Good to see you, Hap,” Tony says and finds that there is no lie in the statement.

“Hey uh, you wanna stop somewhere on the way to the mansion?” Happy asks, and gives him a look over once more, frowning.

“Where’s Pepper?” Tony counter-questions.

“Dropped her off at the mansion before coming here,” Happy responds and opens the door for him.

“Just the mansion then, Hap. No stops,” Tony says and slides into the car seat, getting comfortable.

“Oh-kie-dokie,” Happy shrugs and says nothing more.

Tony opens the liquor drawer that had been customized into almost every one of his salon and limousine vehicles; he finds a bottle of brandy and takes a long sip straight from the bottle. If Happy sees him doing so, he knows better than to say much. Three more swigs and Tony puts it away, sniffing and leaning back against the seat, staring as the city drives by. He had already made the conscious decision when he had boarded the jet last night that he wouldn’t bullshit or lie to Pepper. Not this Pepper, because if there’s one thing he’s learned over the years, it is that will always have Pepper’s loyalty. Someone like that deserves nothing further from the truth.

Even if it means shattering her heart.

(This Pepper still loves you romantically, this Pepper is still in love with you. How do you break someone’s heart with the truth but not completely?)

So of course Pepper comes to a skidding stop when Tony enters the mansion.

Of course Pepper looks at him strangely, puzzled, confused, unsure.

Of course her heart will break anyway.

Because this Pepper knows him intimately, knows the lines of his body, the feel of skin under her soft fingers, knows the topography of every scar that had once decorated his body. This Pepper had gotten used to sleeping with a softly humming night light, had traced the lines of the arc reactor every morning when she wakes up before getting out of bed. This Pepper had fondly arranged his hair before meetings, had straightened his ties, had caressed the scruff on his face when he had spent countless nights binge-working on his suits. This Pepper knows the dryness of his lips and breadth of his shoulders, the strength that Tony had in his arms and chest. She knows every line on his feet, the stretch of his laugh lines and the bags under his eyes, the crows’ feet that had grown more prominent ever since Afghanistan.

Pepper _knows_ him.

So, of course Pepper sees a stranger.

Tony sticks both his hands into his pockets, just as his throat goes completely dry. “Hey, Pep,” He says and waits for the proverbial shoe to drop; Pepper crosses the distance between them and throws her arms around him anyway, hugs him real tight and presses her forehead on his shoulder.

And there it is, the look of surprise and confusion, her beautiful green eyes misting and her freckles losing themselves in a flush that blossoms all over her high cheekbones and the bridge of her button nose. Her hands slide down his shoulders and over his chest and when she feels no familiar disc-shaped bump under the fabric of the zip-up hoodie Tony had taken to wearing, her eyes widen and she is looking at him with a mix of shock and horror.

Four days isn’t a long time; it’s only been four days and a few hours since Phil Coulson had strolled into Stark Tower in New York.

“Tony?” She asks, voice cracking.

Tony can do nothing.

He had felt helpless many times; he should be used to it by now.

(What do you even say?)

“Please don’t cry,” Tony begs, bringing his hand up to hold and steady her by her elbows. “Please, Pep.”

Pepper jolts back at the sight of his hands, takes a step back and another and blinks the tears that falls down her face, a hand coming up to her mouth to cover and prevent a sob that Tony can see, so desperately wants to come out.

“What happened?” She asks instead, syllables congested with the emotional build up in her throat.

“Can we sit down?” Tony asks first.

“Am I going to need a drink for this?” Pepper asks and brings her fingers up to delicately swipe the tears from under her eyes, a gesture to prevent her mascara from running.

It runs anyway.

“Yes,” Tony says and hopes that Pepper can hear the apology in the tremble of his voice. He tilts his head towards the kitchen. “Maybe a lot of it.”

“Okay. Okay…” Pepper says and sniffles before she squares her shoulders and promptly turns towards the kitchen.

She kicks off her Louboutin heels, soft feet padding over gleaming ceramic as she heads straight to the corner shelf where she knows Tony keeps the hard liquor; she takes out a bottle of gin and a bottle of scotch, doesn’t bother with ice, and puts them all on the counter. The glasses come next and then she’s sitting on a kitchen stool, crossing her legs and pulling the rolled kitchen towels towards her, handling everything the way she would a corporate meeting and keeps her chin up. She doesn’t pour a drink, she doesn’t even move from her seat; she simply tilts her head expectantly at him, and waits.

So Tony doesn’t keep her waiting, and takes a seat across from her, the liquor, the glasses, the island between them. He doesn’t keep his hands on the counter as a part of him comes off the seams the longer he stares into Pepper’s eyes. “I’m not who you think I am.” He watches Pepper’s eyebrows go up as her throat tightens as she swallows; how she keeps it together had always been a thing of beauty. It had been one of the things he had found incredibly arousing. “I’m from the future…”

Pepper _scoffs_ , right there in his face like an angry and fed up barmaid after a fist fight and grabs the bottle of gin, pouring a full glass and downing it like it didn’t burn. “Wow.”

Tony gives her a helpless shrug. “I’m not gonna lie to you,” He says and maybe it’s the way he says it, or how soft the words are when it rolls past his lips, how it falls heavily with the weight of shame and guilt as he reaches up and unzips his hoodie to tug it off. He watches Pepper’s gaze follow his hands, watches her green eyes widen when he lifts up the hem of his loose t-shirt and tugs it up to reveal nothing but smooth scarless skin, and still healing molten and hideous myriad of bruises he had sustained during the battle against Thanos. He hears her gasp, watches her bring a hand to her mouth again and blink away tears. “I’m not your Tony, Pep. Not anymore.”

“What do you mean not anymore? I don’t understand – you’re different but the same, this is – I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t,” She says, bringing her hands down sharply on the counter, shaking her head. “You’re going to have to really dumb it down for me, Tony.”

“Okay. Okay…” Tony nods and clears his throat as he tugs his shirt back down and zips up the hoodie once more.

He starts from the battle of New York and works his way forward; he tells her about Killian and the series of Extremis related attacks that will follow in the months to come. He tells her Happy gets hurt, tells her that she almost gets hurt too, that even Rhodey had been threatened. He tells her he destroys his suits for her, as a sign of commitment only it doesn’t last because he can’t stop, he doesn’t know how to stop and that he hasn’t stopped at all. He tells her about the phenomenon in London, how Thor takes care of what turns out to be one of the most powerful objects in the universe. He tells her how after that, SHIELD falls, how the Triskellion in DC will go down along with large aerial ships meant to predict and eradicate threats. He tells her a lot of people will get hurt, that HYDRA would have crawled in through the cracks, that HYDRA walks amongst them all and they don’t even know it. He tells her the team becomes more active, that they, the Mighty Avengers, go on missions tracking HYDRA scum down, eliminating their base of operations.

Then he tells her how he fucks up because he had been scared.

He tells her how he had been the catalyst to create one of the world’s ugliest monsters in his attempt to protect the planet and its people. He tells her how Hulk had torn Johanesburg in almost half, that he had built a suit to withstand the Hulk and it had been almost useless. He tells her that even after they had contained Ultron, the battle had never left him.

He tells her about the Accords, about how the team had been split in two. He tells her how they had gone for each others' throats and the price Rhodey had to pay for signing a document he had believed in. He tells her he had found out who had killed his parents, and how he had hunted the man who had been nothing but HYDRA’s tool. He tells her how he had been left behind by the Avengers and had gotten very sick, tells her that the loss of everything had made him stronger. He tells her of how Stark Industries is at the top of its game, the kind everyone inspires to be, tells her all the projects that earned them that success, tells her how he had become more involved with operations, how he had gotten rid of those who had taken advantage of them and her.

He hides nothing from her.

Not Ross’ arrest, not Steve turning himself into the Accords and almost getting killed at the Courthouse steps, and not his involvement with rehabilitating the Winter Soldier, HYDRA’s most prized weapon, all the way down to him meeting Dr. Strange, the incident with the spell turning him to a child, Rhodey’s wedding and world’s heroes standing up towards the rebels who resisted the Accords in blind misjudgment and ignorance.

What he doesn’t tell her is that being sick had meant death, had meant imminent heart failure, cancer and a desperation so great, that he had turned himself into something that can’t be called human anymore. He doesn’t tell her about the hallucinations, the shadows he still sees and the voices he still hears, the side effects of Extremis and the million things he had done – horrible, breach of privacy things – with it. He doesn’t tell her how he had not been able to cope with Extremis’ side effects, how he had gone ahead and gotten rid of a good chunk of his memories. He doesn’t tell her that he’s never going to be okay, that if anything, he remains broken anyway, even after reverse-engineering Extremis’ memory-loss programming. He doesn’t tell her how he rarely trusts people now, doesn’t tell her that the Winter Soldier is Bucky Barnes, the man Steve Rogers had practically beaten him to near death for having the audacity to want to do the right thing and to keep the team together. He doesn’t tell her that the man he had wanted to save, the murderer of his parents, is now the man he ached for the most, the man he wants nothing more than to lose himself in, and the man who holds every bit of him.

(You’re everything.)

Tony had to give Pepper credit for keeping herself fairly together, even if half the bottle of gin is gone and a little cluster of wadded up paper towels lay in a small pile in front of her. Tony gives her a few minutes to collect herself, says nothing when she blows her nose. Even with dark lines streaking down her cheeks, she still looks about as elegant as the woman he had once been in love with.

“You and I…” Tony licks his dry lips, his throat a little hoarse from all the talking; it feels like he’s been talking for hours. “We didn’t… we couldn’t, you know?” He ducks his head to lower his gaze, unable to stand the sight of her tears. “It wasn’t your fault. Not really. And I dunno how to fix this, and I can’t even begin to ask you to trust me, you don’t know me, you can’t just take my word for a future that is at least a decade ahead of now. I mean, I wouldn’t trust me either.”

Tony flinches when he hears a breathless sob tear itself out of her throat, and swallows when she just comes apart like a falling house of cards, intoxicated and letting the emotions run free. Everything in Tony’s bones is telling him to get up and put his arms around her, to comfort her and hold her together when she can't seem to anymore; he gives in, standing up and walking around the island, gently picking Pepper up from where she had slumped forward on the marble top, gathering her up and wrapping his arms around her.

She weeps like a thing that had lost something precious, shaking in his arms and Tony just takes it, swallows it all with great difficulty, smoothing down her hair and feeling the trembles of her loss and grief reverberate through him. Garbled accusations leaves her lips, broken and incoherently stringed together; liar, impostor, maker of excuses – none of it makes sense but Tony pays little to no attention it, takes it all with a little grain of salt.

Tears aren’t meant to flow forever.

When Pepper manages to stop, and sit herself back on the kitchen stool, she doesn’t let go of his hand, French-manicured fingers tracing the plain band on his left ring finger. She doesn’t look up at him, doesn’t say anything, nor does she ask who he had ended up with.

“You wanna know a secret?” Tony asks, and smiles a little nostalgically. “I will always love you, even after we’ve gone our separate ways. You have always remained a part of my heart, one of the two people who I can fully trust to have my back. And if I – if only I had put the effort to make us work, I think, in the long run, maybe it might have. But I didn’t.” Tony shrugs, and swallows. “I didn’t want you to leave me again, because you know, I’m not … I’m _not_.”

(Good enough, strong enough, tough enough.)

“I’ll bring him home,” Tony says, looking up from his hands and meeting Pepper’s gaze. “This is not my world, this is not my time. But it is his. And if you understood and believe anything from what I just said, then you know when I promise you that I will do everything I can to bring him back, you know I mean it.” Tony gives her a bit of a twitchy smile that doesn’t quite fully form. “I hope you know that I’m not gonna stop. I’ll make this right – no matter how long it takes. I’ve gotten very good in being patient. You’d be proud of me.”

“You could be a HYDRA agent disguised as Tony for all I know! You can’t expect me to just believe you,” Pepper grits out and then pushes him away. “That’s bullshit!”

Tony looks at his hands and chews on his lower lip, going back years to their honeymoon phase, nights when they would sit and talk about their pasts, tell each other secrets that they had never done so before. “You told me that your mom got drunk one night after a bad relationship, that when she pushed you away, you had fallen and hit your head on the side of a table.” He hears Pepper’s breath hitch. “You had a scar, just under your hairline where the hair doesn’t grow right, six stitches. You were seven. You hated her for that night and everything it meant, that’s why when you started working for me, the first thing you did with your paycheck was to get rid of it. You told me you didn’t wear your hair up in a ponytail or got rid of your bangs because you didn’t like seeing it.”

“A detective can string together old reports!” Pepper snaps.

“When we’re together, you like it best when I spoon you and take you from behind.” Tony drops, and watches as the flush glow all over her face. “You specifically wear your hair up in a ponytail when giving me head because you enjoy the fact that I lose control and use it like a lifeline to hold on to.” Tony clears his throat. “A month ago today, you came back from your trip the Netherlands with a bottle of rose that we shared in the patio; you demanded I go down on you after finishing three quarters of the bottle. It’s your favorite wine.” Tony looks at his hands again. “It’s my favorite thing to do with you – you appreciated it, enjoyed it. You are also the only person to ever stick your hand into my chest cavity. The first time you did it was when I got back from Aghfanistan; I told you touching the walls would kind of jolt, and I started going to cardiac arrest until the new arc reactor was in place. Kind of. You thought I was kidding – I sounded like I was kidding. You also said it smelled like coconut.” Tony stops talking and watches as Pepper’s lips trembles, as she stares at him torn between trusting and shaking her head. “I don’t have any reason to lie to you, Pepper. I haven’t had any in years, even after we’ve gone our separate ways. I’m not about to now.”

“Let’s say I believe you,” Pepper says, shaking her head and bring her fingers to her eyes, wiping the tears away. “How are you even going to pull this off? Tony had – Tony has obligations to Stark Industries, to the Avengers Initiative. A team, by the way, that has people who can figure you out. I figured you out! And I’m not a goddamn spy!”

“I have a plan…” Tony murmurs. “But I can’t do it alone. I need you to cover for me, just long enough for me to figure out how I even got here in the first place and how to reverse it. This is isn’t even science anymore. These are powers and forces beyond us. I need you to help me keep cover.”

“You’re asking me to fucking lie?” Pepper shouts, throwing her hands up in the air.

“I’m _begging_ you to lie.” Tony corrects and swallows. “In return, I promise to get Stark Industries on its feet, remain on its feet, ten years too early.”

Pepper is pacing, going back and forth, carding her fingers through her hair and pulling it free from its elaborate top-knot, just so that she can massage her scalp, ease the no doubt ginormous headache that must be throbbing at this point. “What about Rhodey –“

“He arrives in a week. I’ll tell him everything I told you. You can choose to be present if you don’t trust that I won’t,” Tony says, shrugging a little. “I have no reason to hide from him either. I haven’t in years and I won’t now.”

Tony thinks he should cushion and tone down the directness of his words, the fact that everything keeps coming out like a bullet point recital from a business report. He thinks that he should be gentle with this world that is still too young for a cold and calculating no-nonsense Tony Stark. Tony looks at Pepper who can’t seem to gather enough of her wit to process what he had just thrown at her while having the world yanked out from under her feet at the same time. Tony doesn’t know if he can bring her Tony back, he doesn’t even know if he can go home to Bucky. He understands her, knows how she must feel like she is stumbling on ground without gravity, because that’s what he feels too.

The difference between them is that Tony had waded through so much shit that he’s used to walking on ground without gravity. He’s used to feeling displaced.

He only wishes it hurt less.

“You bring him back. You swear to me, Mister Stark, that you bring him the fuck back here where he belongs! Or so help me…” Pepper says, her strength and wit coming and going, like the fluctuating graph of a heart monitor, up and down and up and down.

Tony takes a hold of her, steadies her by the shoulders, and grounds her because he’s the stronger one now out of the two of them.

(Let me take care of you the way you’ve taken care of me all this time.)

“With my life…” Tony says as Pepper nods and gives his forearms a tight squeeze, her knuckles going white, just as reason and purpose engulfs him and he begins formulating plans to move forward.

\--

Tony had a week till Rhodey arrives on United States soil.

The next morning, Tony meets with Pepper in their California head office, where Tony shows her two years worth of projects, products and outreaches to fill the remaining of the fiscal year and the following one. They spend all day in the office, ironing out kinks and looking through their current members of staff; Tony gives her a list of names of people they later hire for the Robotics and Development department and asks her to look into early recruitment. They also finalize the September Foundation, and instead of Tony announcing it in MIT years later, he tells Pepper to let him know when she can find a date for it to go live.

On the second day, they call for a board meeting and announce Stark Industries new plans and new vision to the very flabbergasted board. Tony had done most of the talking and the presentation, had kept his eye on the board members that he forcibly asks to retire and watch them stare in awe and squirm in their seats. He had not mentioned to Pepper who is embezzling millions of dollars right there under their noses, but he tells himself to keep a closer look, see if anything changes. They sit and talk for hours, Tony and Pepper tackling question after question before they get the majority agreement.

The third day, Tony and Pepper go live and announce that Stark Industries will be supporting the rehabilitation of New York post-Chitauri-battle; Tony gets hit with questions about Ironman, if they’ll be seeing more of the Avengers, if they can expect them to always be around. The press conference takes a sharp turn away from Stark Industries and is suddenly turned to an impromptu demand for quotes and statements about the new team of heroes that the world is still in awe of.

Tony fields it as much as he can, giving very open ended responses that he knows won’t get him attention from Fury, SHIELD or even the rest of the team that he had been trying to avoid since he had left the tower days ago. Tony knows he can shut it down immediately, and when Pepper had reached for his elbow in a quiet message that they should, he pats her hand decides to take advantage of the situation when one young looking reporter shoots his hand up and introduces himself as a blogger.

“Mister Stark, Ironman, sir. Were you aware that you could be possibly making a one way trip when you carried that nuke out to the sky?”

“Yes,” Tony says, and watches the crowd lull to a slow hush. “Up until the Mighty Thor, we weren’t aware that aliens existed. Up until a few days ago, we didn’t even know that Alien and Predator are actually a thing that lurks somewhere far beyond our galaxies. We’re nowhere prepared for this kind of thing. Me? I invent, I fix, I look at variables, I experiment both as an engineer and a scientist. Those things I saw up there, I wasn’t prepared for that. No one can be trained for that. We don’t have the data to solve that kind of equation.” Tony swallows, and looks at his hands, biting his inner cheek as he thinks of Thanos, as he remembers how the sky had burned a bright orange, as if the sun had brushed against their stratosphere. “And maybe we never will, but we can damn well try, won’t we? I can’t speak on behalf of all the other heroes, I’m not exactly authorized to do that, but I can speak for myself,” Tony says and takes a pause to look at the sea of faces in the room; he thinks back to his team, all the young faces and older ones, those who had retired forced to pick up their weapons to defend their homes and families, their countries and their people. “Everything I’ve done, everything I’ll do today, everything I’ll ever do, I do to protect this world. Someone once told me that with great power come great responsibility. That’s usually thought of as a lesson for children, a simple injunction to do the right thing. But there is nothing simple about it. When I put on the armor, I took on more power than any human was ever intended to have…. And maybe more responsibility than my heart can truly bear. But today, and tomorrow, and for as long as I am here, I will protect you.” Tony blinks once and feels the weight of their gazes on him. “No matter what.”

“Tony…” Pepper whispers, cradling his elbow.

“Last year, I shut the down the manufacturing division of Stark International until such a time as I can decide what the future of this company will be. Stark Industries and Stark International will be expanding; this is my legacy. And my legacy will be built on furthering the best possible future for the people and the world. Just watch this space.”

Tony thanks them and turns away, leaving Happy and his security team to form a wall between himself and Pepper and roar of the media wanting more.

They step into the safety of the elevator, heading straight back up to Pepper’s office.

“That was a very nice speech,” Pepper murmurs, flicking a glance up at Tony.

Tony doesn’t look back at her, and instead keeps staring at the stretch of the surreal beauty and stretch that is California. It hadn’t looked this calm and peaceful from the reports he had gotten during the attack. “It’s not just a speech…”

“Tony…”

“That’s the way it should have been from the start. Not weapons, not bombs, not shit that destroys villages and cities.” Tony shakes his head. “Our future can’t be built on death and destruction.” The elevator rings and they step out together, Tony shoving his hands into his pockets, thumb feeling the curve of the cool metal on his left ring finger. “I’ll be in my office getting the last of those drafts up. Let me know if you need anything else?”

Pepper is staring at him, in that way that tells Tony that she is weighing everything he had said, everything they had done, playing a tug of war with her business and personal instincts. Tony watches her shoulders sag for the briefest second before it straightens and her posture shifts from unsure to the Fortune 500 CEO the world has come to identify her as.

Tony can’t help but smile.

“Of course, Mister Stark,” Pepper says and when she turns to leave, Tony stops her.

“Pepper.” Tony opens his mouth to say, don’t go behind my back, please trust me, please ask me if you have doubts, please don’t involve anyone else. Tony presses his lips shut for a moment, and instead, what comes out is, “If you have any questions, anything, don’t think twice about asking me. Transparency – I’d like to maintain that in our relationship moving forward.”

Pepper’s face flushes, not from anger but from the raw emotion that makes her beautiful green eyes glassy, like the surface of an expensively crafted porcelain doll. “Will that be all Mister Stark?”

Tony hears the sadness and the loss. He tightens his fists, in his pockets, resisting the urge to be personal, because that’s not them anymore. It isn’t fair to her and neither it is to him – it’s a mutual agreement they had settled on when in the midst of drafting their plans before going to the board, they had tackled the possibility of how to address the paparazzi if their relationship gets dragged into the mud:

Stark Industries must come first in light of the Battle of New York.

“That’ll be all Miss Potts.” Tony answers, just as his stomach turns and he feels the nausea consume him when they go separate ways.

Deep down, he knows – oh how he _knows_ – that Pepper must feel the exact same way.

\--

Tony is rubbing fatigue from his eyes and pressing a napkin against his nostrils, wiping away the pool of blood that accumulated around his upper lip. He had relocated to his workshop late the previous night. He counts ten hours of straight use of Extremis and shakes his head, clearing the nausea that makes his knees buckle when he tries to stand, his hands gripping the work bench tightly as he tries to ground himself, forcing breaths that tastes like residual copper through his wet nose.

It takes forever, as it always does, to come down from the work binge. The plus side is that Tony had wrapped up everything he had to hand over to Pepper; other than minor updates and upgrades that he foresees in the post-marketing stage, Tony thinks Pepper will have her hands incredibly full for a very long time.

It takes effort to pull himself together and climb the winding steps to main room. It takes less to just collapse in a heap on the sofa. Tony swears under his breath when the dark spots in the corners of his vision grow wider in its coverage, curses a little more when his skin break out in goosebumps as the world shift around him a little, something he had expected after the long work binge and overusing Extremis again.

One would think he’d be used to it by now.

Tony shuts his eyes despite the bright morning rays pouring through the glass, giving in to the pull of his subconsciousness as the fatigue and his overloaded brain catches up to everything he had consciously missed, but subconsciously remembers.

It is a sea of numerous news coverage, voices, conversations, explosions and Helicarriers falling from the sky, it is bloodied collector’s cards and the Hulk’s roar smashing through Thanos’ armies; Tony watches as Pepper slips from his grip, watches as she glows a fiery red, fire under her skin and in her veins as she picks up a rebar beam and _swings_ , the image dissolving to Antman towering above them and collapsing in a heap on the ground that shatters the tarmac. Antman doesn’t get up, and instead the earth opens up and Tony is falling in with him, his teammates all around him, free falling into Earth’s core that glows red.

Tony hears the screaming, hears the cries for help and the pained suffering, as men and women crawl and burn all around him. He sees the broken shield, sees the fallen gauntlet ahead of him and Tony is rerouting all powers to his thrusters, shooting forward and cutting through ash and the graveyard of bones as he picks up the shield and brings its cracked edges down on the gauntlet.

The scream is high pitched and Tony thinks it’s someone – Wanda, Natasha, Carol, Steve, Scott, Sam, anyone – except it’s not coming from around him.

The scream is spilling from his throat as he is pulled forward, the surface of his skin cracking and disintegrating as time shifts all around him, ripping him apart at a cellular level as broken jeweled sparks rises from under the sharp edges of the shield.

Tony watches the armor dissolve, then his skin, then his flesh and bone, crawling all the way up to his arms and chest until he feels it reaches his neck and down his sides, spreading through his thighs as he comes apart and his scream rips out of him, long, desperate, high pitched, then distorted, broken, almost mechanized.

And there, from across the fiery field and the sea of bodies and blood, is Bucky looking right at him, mouth open in a scream of rage, loss and desperation, arm twisted and cradled, broken and bleeding as he calls out Tony’s name.

Tony hears him loud and clear, hears the grit in his voice and sees the fear in his eyes. But Tony's throat dissolves, his eyes come apart until it’s all black around him, his body floating like a buoy in a suddenly still sea that carries no sound.

Tony opens his mouth to shout.

And screams at his empty living room as he jerks awake to an evening sky, the shrill ring of the phone filling the space after his scream dies out. Tony is sitting up drenched in sweat, hair plastered to his head and skin beading with cold sweat, harsh breathing cutting through the stillness of his Malibu home in sync with the cellphone ringing insistently.

Tony’s fingers can’t grip, can’t hold his phone still as he answers automatically before he even registers who is on the other line.  
  
“Yeah?” Tony croaks.

“Tony!” Steve responds, “Thank god – hey, we’ve been trying to reach you! You okay? You sound –“

Tony blinks rapidly and grits his teeth at picking up the call without checking – _fuckfuckfuck_! “Uh fine, yeah, what’s up?”

“We’ve got a possibility of a support assignment coming up. London, T plus fourteen hours," Steve says.

Tony shakes his head, trying to clear the images out of his mind and pinches the bridge of his nose. “What the fuck is in London?”

“There’s been sightings of an alien ship appearing and disappearing – SHIELD is keeping us in the loop as they begin evacuation. Will you be able –“

Awareness hits him like a backlash and Tony is getting on his feet and swaying as he steadies himself. “What – shit – what day is it?”

“Uh, it’s Thursday?” Steve answers, sounding puzzled and concerned, and Tony cuts him off, tossing the phone back into the damp cushions as he presses his hands against the stretch of glass and connects to the network.

And there, the sight of the alien ship looming over London, videos taken by several civilian phones – Tony stumbles back like he’s been shoved as he disconnects, shaking his head and bringing up the back of his hand to his nose, swiping at the crimson moisture.  
  
That debacle with Thor and London isn’t supposed to happen till months later.

It’s _all wrong_.

It’s too _fast_.

Tony checks the time and date and hears Steve call his name repeatedly from the other line.

He’s only been asleep for forty-eight hours.

“See you in London, Steve…” Tony mutters, and ends the call.

(Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!)  
  


TBC

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *SIGH*
> 
> Yeah, IDEK tbh.


	3. Total days since arrival: 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am my own beta -- I proof-read all by myself so I may miss some stuff. This is an ever-green story and is continoulsy being re-read and edited for typos/errors/etc. Tags to be added as the story moves forward. There is a possibility of a one-sided StOny romance.
> 
> I can't let this universe go no thanks to Nova_Arcania who put the idea of world switching and whatnot. So here it is, Tony going back in time and trying to get home?
> 
>  
> 
> **Also just to clarify, day count in the chapter title will illustrate total number of days from the start of one chapter right through the end.**

**“Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.”**  
**― J.M. Barrie , Peter Pan**

The rendezvous point turns out to be smack in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, on the same Helicarrier that they had been on when fighting Loki. Tony touches down and steps into the decontamination bay, allowing the mist and smoke to cloud around him before he steps out and is greeted by the SHIELD agents. He is escorted up to his allocated room, given access to a storage facility and then left to his own privacy.

Tony waits for the door to shut, scrambles the security feed around him before the suit retracts and disappears into the pores of his skin. He gives orders to JARVIS to speed up the upgrades on all his suits, to ensure that each suit had its own standalone power support, which had to be independent from the arc reactor that had once upon time sat on his chest like a beacon. Tony looks at the time and expects at least the MARK VI to be operational once more, fully loaded and ready to be revealed.

Tony takes his time in joining the rest of the team on the Bridge, where he spots Hill and Fury conversing and Steve leafing through a dossier. On the other end, Clint sits on a chair, feet crossed at the ankles as he studies readings from the alien ship on a projected screen.

“Look what the cat dragged in – impressive speech, Stark,” Clint sing-songs, as he flicks to another clear video of the ship hovering menacingly in London.

Tony simply huffs and blows him a raspberry, the gesture feeling rather foreign, before he pulls a chair and drops tiredly onto it, hands in his pockets, slouching like he owns the entire operation. Steve is looking at him with a focus that makes Tony uncomfortable. He returns the gaze and cants his head to the side, watching the furrow between Steve’s brows deepen.

“You look different,” Steve says, in an almost dazed like observation.

“It’s called fashion and style, sugarplum.” Tony gives Steve a slow raking gaze, from the boots he had on, the slightly loose fitting denims and the checkered shirt that reminds Tony of a cheap pizza parlor table cloth. “Something you might wanna consider – I know this great eastern European lady, about yay-high in height.” Tony holds out his hand, and shrugs. “Amazing little thing.”

“Thanks,” Steve mutters and turns his attention away.

“Sure? I can hook you up,” Tony offers once more.

“I have you on speed-dial. I’ll let you know when I need one,” Steve says, ever the polite boy-scout that he is.

“Oooo, speed-dial~ I am so touched and flattered, Cap~” Tony sing-songs and drops it at that, turning his attention towards one of the open screens that is projecting weather, radiation fluctuation along with live feed of central London.

“Did you have a chance to read the briefings?” Steve asks, to which Tony simply hums in agreement. “What are your thoughts?”

Tony wants to say that they are likely wasting their time because it’s something the local authorities and Thor can handle seamlessly without their help. He doesn’t say that though and simply shrugs once more. “Another day on the job; I am starting to wonder if aliens are going to be part of the new norm.”

“What are the odds?” Fury says, turning to face the table.

“Maybe it’s time you invest in expanding the Avengers Initiative,” Tony says, shrugging. “My two cents on the matter.”

“Do you have someone in mind?” Nick asks, and Tony finds himself at the receiving end of Natasha, Clint and Steve’s curious gazes.

“Colonel James Rhodes,” Tony quips, and gets a blink from Natasha.

“Rhodey?” She sounds surprised.

“Pilots a suit. Well revised in tactical operations, you get additional aerial support because let’s face it, Thor is not always going to be around and we do not have his private cellphone number.” Tony meets Fury’s gaze and then blinks at Steve’s quiet stare. “You asked for a suggestion, there’s my first.”

“I’ll look into it.” Fury nods.

“Awesometastic! I’m gonna go nap.”

“We should be on standby, Tony…” Steve points out.

“Sooooo wake me up when it’s time to go? Ask her, I’m a light sleeper,” Tony says as he glances at his watch while tilting his head at Natasha’s direction, pushing himself off the table, getting back on his feet. The alien ship is yet to make reappearance and if it’s anything like what he thinks he knows, there is no need for them to be so stringed up on alertness. He doesn’t wait for a response and just exits the bridge, walking down the hallways towards his room.

The hurried footsteps behind him doesn’t make him pause or break his stride towards his room. Tony doesn’t need to look behind him to know that Steve had followed him out.

“Tony, do you mind if we have a word in private?” Steve asks, voice dropping down.

If there is something Tony had learned over the course of many painful years, is that Steve’s stubborn streak doesn’t _budge_ an inch. Tony knows that dancing around him will fuel the stubbornness and only have the Super Soldier _focus_ on him. That is the _last_ thing Tony wants, and so he changes the formula all together, taps to a different dance as he nods and tilts his head for Steve to follow him to his allocated room. Once the door slides shut, Tony drops down heavily against the bed and gestures for Steve.

“What’s on your mind, Cap?” Tony asks. “Feel free not to pull any punches.”

“You left New York far too fast and I didn’t have the chance to…” Steve ducks his head, shakes his head once and tries again. “Tony, are you okay?”

“No,” Tony answers, and watches the taken aback expression on Steve’s face. He also watches the man recover in one second flat, concern tugging at the expression, weighing it down and making the age under the young skin peek through. “I am not _okay_ Steve, and I have doubts if I’ll ever be. I am trying though. So yay for effort.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Steve offers and Tony wants to _laugh_ at how predictable the response is.

“No, Steve. Not this time,” Tony answers, shaking his head and just to fuck with Steve’s head a little more, he responds with an equally generic response. “I appreciate your concern; thank you for asking.”

“It’s not – you’re a team member. And it looks like we will be working together, and you raised a very valid point earlier with the suggestion on the Avengers expanding. In light of that, I was wondering if you’d be interested in training together sometime. That way, we can function more seamlessly. Get a better understanding of each other, maybe get to know each other better?”

“Team building?” Tony asks, raising both eyebrows.

“Yeah. A team can’t function if we’re all strangers to each other. It also depletes morale. What do you think?” Steve asks.

“I’m hardly the guy to be asking this, Steve. I don’t own the Avengers, the initiative belong to SHIELD and sure, I’m all up for team building and movie nights and us gathering around the fireplace and playing truth or dare just like –“ Tony stops and blinks, realization hitting him between the eyes like a sharp blade being embedded into his skull. The words comes to a halting stop as he tilts his head in puzzlement.

Tony doesn’t remember _ever_ being at the receiving end of Steve _asking_ him to keep the team together, or get the team together – those are all his ideas, his doing, and it’s almost easily always Tony consulting with Steve to get him to have his back when he pitches the idea of a social call or anything remotely related to the team. Discomfort starts to coil in his stomach, tendrils like ghost fingers nudging Tony in warning as he swallows. Steve is upright with his back straight, shoulder blades off the wall he had been leaning on and uncrossing his arms in what looks like puzzled expression.

“Tony?”

(The man out of time had never shown interest this way, not so directly. That’s why he always remained out of time, right?)

“You know what? You’re right.” Tony blinks, dancing to the tune that is playing, side stepping and slipping into the role of a follower as opposed to being the instigator. “What did you have in mind? We don’t exactly live together, but I’m sure we can line up our schedules?”

“Well, Thanksgiving is right around the corner. Nothing gets people together than good company and good food right? At least, back in my day…”

A nervous laugh manages to slip past Tony's throat, as he tears his gaze away from Steve and looks at his hands, at the gleam of silver on his finger that he covers quickly, slipping his hand into his pocket as he swallows thickly.

He remembers their _first_ Thanksgiving, the one he had insisted on enjoying with the team, the one he had _instigated_ rather loudly, cutting no corners, using the remodeled Avengers Tower as the venue; he remembers how Steve had looked at him then, quiet from the across the table, something soft glittering around the corner of his eyes, lips curved gently into a smile. Tony remembers how Steve had thanked him, how the words had been whisper-soft, and so, _so_ grateful, god it feels so, _so_ long ago.

“That formula hasn’t changed, Cap. Still works in the modern world,” Tony says, as something tightens in his throat and chest. “So, am I hearing you right? You want a social gathering?”

“Well, down the road, sure, if it works out. But I was thinking perhaps, if you are open to it, once we’ve got this thing in London worked out, and all goes well, maybe we can push forward towards a more feasible training schedule? Work out the kinks, or something...”

“We don’t have a facility to do that.” Tony points out.

“I’ll talk to Fury, see if he can give us a SHIELD training ground. I’m pretty sure there’s a piece of land somewhere we can use.” Steve nods, chewing his lower lip in thought. “Thank you for agreeing, Tony. I said some really wrong things, misjudged, uncalled for statements. I apologize for that.”

“Don’t sweat it, Cap. It’s not something I’m not used to. You should read the tabloids sometime. I'd say you were quite gentle,” Tony says, standing up, keeping his hands in his pockets, as he throws Steve a wry smile.

“Doesn’t make it right.” Steve says, and looks at the ground.

The silence is thick and Tony stares at the hunched shoulders, at the slight frown on Steve's face. This Steve had not been out of the ice for too long, had only been around this messed up century for a short time. This Steve doesn’t have his moral compass twisted in a knot because SHIELD is yet to fall. This is a Steve who is yet to see the scum of the earth, still sincere, still kind, dark side still tucked away under all that bitterness and rebellious streak that shines brighter than the north star, so terribly unknown to the world.

(You know how dark it can get. You had seen murder in those blue eyes, had been the recipient of lies and ego, of a cowardly sanctimonious behavior. You had watched the man you had loved for years, had wanted for years, turn to the ugly thing that plagues your dreams as much as the monster you created had. Sometimes, you still feel it, the weight of the shield on your chest. Sometimes you still hear how it had cracked through the arc reactor, how it had bent metal. Betrayal does that to a person, and SHIELD had betrayed a man who had nothing else to go by. SHIELD and its lies had gotten under Steve’s skin, had turned him into something more cynical and cold, not trusting of government entities, not trusting of people who had elected those governments – you know what betrayal does to a person who had _nothing_ but the present.

You’re one of them.)

“I don’t trust you,” Tony says, and watches as Steve looks just the slightest bit taken aback. “I have no reason to outside the heat of battle where we _all_ have a common goal. Barring the fact that you worked closely with Howard, that dad only mentioned you like about a million times growing up, I _actually_ don’t know you, Rogers. Give me one good reason why I should trust you.”

“I could say the same about you, Tony,” Steve says, cheeks flushing just the tiniest bit as he straightens to his full height.

Tony shakes his head, waving his right hand dismissively because he knows Steve is standing his defensive stance. “I’m not saying this to insult. I’m stating facts. I’m a businessman, I need to know where I’m investing myself in here. People like me? I get taken advantage of _all the time_. Betrayal _never_ comes from your enemy; they come from the people closest to you, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep my heart intact this time around. I know you read my file, don’t act stupid – it’s insulting.” Tony gives him a pointed look and watches Steve clears his throat.

“It’s not my intention to make things difficult,” Steve answers, and keeps his chin up, ever the immovable object that he is.

(Doesn’t that feel so, _so_ familiar?)

“I like transparency. I feel, lately, transparency has worked in my favor quite well these days. So let me make myself clear here, just so you know what you’re associating yourself with. I don’t have to prove a single damn thing to _you_ to be able to help people, to do the right thing, or to continue to be a hero, or stand up for what I believe in. I do not need the Avengers and to be honest, the Avengers does _not_ need me.” Tony bites the tip of his tongue, capping the slight hint of bitterness. “So if you want me to give a fuck, you better give me a _damn_ good reason to; otherwise you and I are our wasting our time. Here, I’ll start. You wanna know what’s mine? It’s fear.” Steve parts his lips to say something, but Tony cuts him off. “Fear of what’s out there, fear that this vulnerable little blue planet of ours is just so hopelessly defenseless against monsters from far, far away – that’s why I get up and try. So I and billion others can continue to _go home_. So that I can continue to protect those that are the closest to me. Why do _you_ get up?”

Steve is looking at the ground and Tony can see the stunned look on his face, caught off guard, unable to form words.

It’s almost heartbreakingly sad.

 _Almost_.

“I’ve always just wanted to do the right thing. Serve the people, protect their freedom. I don’t know what _else_ to do, you know?” Steve says, slowly and looking every bit like the skinny sickly boy from Brooklyn, who had failed enlisting over and over again. “I didn’t get the time to figure that out before I went under the ice. I’m just some stubborn kid from Brooklyn.”

“And I’m just a man in a tin can,” Tony says as he stands, joints popping with the motion.

“I can’t give you a reason to trust me, Tony. You’re right, you don’t know me. And I don’t know you. But I like what I’m seeing. I’ve been following Stark Industries press releases and announcements, and the things that you’ve made public so far? I think they’re great. The outreach in Northern Africa, the September Foundation – I can’t give you a reason now, but I’m hoping I can get the opportunity to continue to work with you, that you’ll change your mind about the Avengers _not_ needing you. I’d like to move forward in a more positive direction.”

“Can we promise each other transparency out of courtesy?” Tony holds Steve’s gaze and feels something like the tiniest flicker of warm hope ignite in his chest.

“I’d appreciate that very much.” Steve nods, small smile dimpling his cheeks.

“Well then Cap, I’d say I’m looking forward to seeing you in Thanksgiving.” Tony holds his hand out.

The smile Steve gives him is so wide and incredibly sincere that Tony feels like a horrid monster for not being entirely transparent.

“I’m honestly looking forward to it. I hear you throw a mean party.”

“Oh Steve-boo, you have _no idea_ …”

\--

The alien ship looming over London disappears but not without casualty. Thor himself appears on the deck of the Helicarrier, confirming that the earth is no longer under threat by the Dark Elves and that matters had been contained. Instead of tackling aliens and their ships, Steve leads the team chasing after a large rhino like creature somewhere around the outskirts of London, where said creature had taken to terrorizing British citizens in its attempt to chase wild birds.

It had taken some coaxing, a lot of coordination and tranquilizers, but they successfully subdue the large beast and transport it out of the civilian area. Tony had laughed himself silly as the cage is loaded into the Helicarrier, because of all the things he had been worried about, an alien rhino-like creature had _not_ been one of them.

Clint had asked if they could hit a local pub for the night, and Tony’s instant reaction is to look at Steve, who in turn is looking at him questioningly, eyebrow raised, a silent question if he is interested in staying. Tony had just given them the sure-why-not response when JARVIS’s alert patches through the suit.

“Incoming call from Miss Potts, sir?”

“I’ll take it J,” Tony says, holding up a finger to the team and turning around, metal boots thunking against the asphalt as he puts distance between himself and the rest of the team. “Hey, Pep.”

“Tony,” Pepper says, a tremble in her voice that makes ice solidify in Tony’s spine.

“What’s wrong?” He asks immediately, all traces of humor gone.

“It’s Happy. The Chinese Theatre – you said –“

Pepper doesn’t get to finish her sentence because she breaks down into tears, half formed sentences coming out in muddled incoherence as Tony just stands there with something far and high pitched ringing in his ears, dread and horror at miscalculating making him stand with his back ramrod straight. He thinks back on the years, questions his own timeline and everything that had happened. It’s early September, and he didn’t think much of it when the London-incident happens a month early; now, Tony is _forced_ to think of timeline possibility, that maybe this isn’t some alter-dimension, that maybe he _is_ in his own timeline, that maybe he is the anomaly and because he had sped up a few projects in Stark Industries that will affect thousands of groups of people globally, maybe he’s the one triggering _everything._ Tony thinks back to a long conversation he had about time-space and relativity with Bruce, Strange and Wong, how theories and their own school of thoughts and interpretation had been brought forward over canned energy drinks, packed salads and sandwiches. Words that Wong and Strange had sprouted out that meant so little back then suddenly made a thousand times more sense now: spatial paradoxes, time loops, unstable dimension openings, a shitload of things that Tony had little to no time to absorb and digest let alone _study_ because temporal manipulations had not been one of his doctorates. It certainly had not been a science branch he can hop into and sign up for at MIT or Harvard, Cambridge or Oxford.

And if he is the anomaly in time, if he _is_ creating branches in time that had not existed beforehand by speeding things up and disturbing the order, Tony knows that even if he stops now, the consequences, in _theory_ , would still be dire, wouldn’t it?

Tony blinks rapidly and swallows when he comes out of his rising panic, tries to breathe within the confines of a suit that feels too tight and suddenly too suffocating.

“I’ll be there as quick as I can,” Tony says.

When he turns around, he finds Steve behind him, looking at him with concern so vividly expressed on his face that it _almost_ makes something in Tony crack under the pressure that’s descending upon him in speeds he can’t even begin to calculate.

“Tony, is everything all right?”

“A friend . He uh…“ Tony says and hears his voice crack. “I have to go. I can’t stay.”

Steve gives him a firm nod, understanding the urgency. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Tony shakes his head.

(I wish.)

“You know how to reach me,” Tony says and the hud clamps shut, thrusters powering up before he takes off, leaving Steve way down below with his neck craned up watching him disappear into the sky.

\--

What should have happened over the course of many weeks and months happens in a span of _days_ exactly how it should have with little to almost no space in between; if anything, it is a complete blender of a disarray.

Now, Tony finds himself sitting there, beside Steve’s hospital bed, looking at him breathe like he’s only napping on a sunny and warm spring day.

When Tony had been tackling Aldrich Killian and rescuing a plane full of people, tracking down the missing vice president, saving the still called Iron Patriot and Rhodey, then causing millions worth of property damage in the docks over the span of forty eight hours, Fury had gotten himself attacked in London instead of the US, faked his death in hours, had gone into hiding somewhere underground in Italy, while SHIELD somehow, without even trying so hard, collapsed in and on itself just as Project: Insight had gone live.

In Fury’s marvelous almost-kind-of-dying breath, he had managed to give the good Captain a heads up to take down Project Insight. And when Steve had been trying to get to SHIELD, he had made his first encounter with the Winter Soldier.

Nothing about everything that had happened had made any remote sense, not in the timeline Tony is familiar with, anyway.

Tony knows for a fact that Steve and Natasha had flown in from Europe on a quinjet instead of taking a cross country road trip on an old and ‘borrowed’ Silverado; Tony knows that this time, they made it out of that bunker before the explosion and had flown into Washington on a barely functioning jet. Tony knows that logistically, flying in a jet would cut time shorter, that while little things like transportation and place of attack had been different, everything else had remained the same.

Tony knows - when he tries to apply logic - that disturbed temporals can result in branches of time and here he is, apparently sitting smack in the middle of it. Tony had spent the past four days, flying across cities and quite literally chasing time trying to make sense of it.

And seeing Steve fast asleep, vulnerable and hurt and looking nothing like a super soldier under the white sheets and polka-dot pattern of a flimsy hospital gown is enough to remind Tony of just what his tampering had cost everyone.

The realization that everything that has happened so far, everything that should have happened in the span of a year, how the knock of death collecting its dues had come far too early, had been his fault somehow makes Tony’s throat constrict and his head duck down, salt gathering in the corner of his eyes as he looks at the ring on his finger, his other hand coming up to cover his mouth to muffle that horrid noise that _almost_ leaves him.

Because Steve had called him.

Tony only finds out _days_ later, after the fall of the Triskelion.

Steve had called him when Steve _doesn’t_ , not really, not when it’s a little personal, anyway.

Steve had called and Tony didn’t answer.

And god, doesn’t that feel like a million times more painful.

Because if Tony had answered, maybe he’d have had a shot at finding Bucky earlier. Maybe the Triskelion didn’t have to fall at all. Maybe, just _maybe_ , three helicariers didn’t have to fall and cause so much collateral damage.

But the call had come when Tony had been in the middle of liberating his best friend from captivity along with the Vice President.

It had come at a time where he had been powerless and helpless to do jack.

(Ultron was right. Try as hard as Tony might, Tony is always going to lose the fucking fight, _in-fucking-deed_.)

The hand on Tony’s arm startles him, making him suck in a sharp breath and look up through the salt gathering in the corners of his eyes, at Steve looking at him with a look that Tony would have never imagined would be _ever_ directed at him.

“Hey, shellhead,” Steve manages a smile, despite his bruised and swollen face.

“Shellhead?” Tony blinks and huffs an awkward laugh, blinking away the moisture.

“Sounds better and less insulting than tin-head. I figured, you know, your helmet…”

Tony blinks at few times and huffs a bit of a nervous laugh, because well, isn’t that a rather affectionate thing to say. “I’m so, _so sorry_ that I didn’t answer and –“

“Hey, hey…” Steve sits up little straighter, wincing in his effort but manages to upright himself a good few inches, hand seeking purchase around the curve of Tony’s arm. “It’s okay. I know what happened, vice president and all – it’s okay. I get it.”

“I would have come, you know?” Tony says and swallows and looks at the ground.

“I believe you, Tony,” Steve says and the words make Tony’s head jerk up too quick, too sudden, as he looks at Steve and the soft and almost apologetic look on his face.

Tony _knows_ Steve.

Knows _now_ to read him better when he lies, when he hides things. This Steve is still raw, still kind, still fresh from the world war. And deep down, Tony knows that maybe the civil war would have never happened if Steve’s faith in a system that is constantly trying and failing hadn’t been crushed and dragged through the mud. Maybe – just _maybe –_ they’d be better friends. Sitting in a small plastic chair so far away from home, Tony feels that deep down if he had tried to be a little more honest back then too (just a tiny bit more), if he had tried to be more direct, more transparent with Steve, maybe the civil war would have never happened either.

Maybe if they just _talked_ through their issues, maybe if they both just allowed themselves to be fucking _vulnerable_ for just a damn second, they would have worked through it.

Maybe.

(Well, you’ll never know _now_ huh?)

“What happened, Steve?” Tony asks, careful and measured.

“Bucky,” Steve says. “He’s alive. I thought – all this time, even back then, I thought I lost him. But it was him, Tony. The Winter Soldier is James Buchanan Barnes.” Tony says nothing, doesn’t even move from his seat as he watches the warring conflict reflect just the tiniest bit over Steve’s gaze. He watches as the tension pulls his jaw taut, tendons visible down the length of his neck, eyebrows knitting to an unsure frown. Tony knows where to look when others don’t, can see the telltale signs because he’s spent a lot of time watching Steve. “He’s not himself. And yet, he saved me.”

Tony looks at his hands as his heart starts to palpitate under his ribs. The noise of the hospital is suddenly amplified – wheelchair wheels squeaking, the rattling noise of a rushed gurney, harried footsteps, the sound of metal banging, equipment clattering, the beep-beep-beep of monitors, the soft hiss of oxygen coming through a mask – Tony closes his eyes, fingers pinching the metal around his ring finger, wishing with a ferocity so unbridled that he can just hear Bucky – no, James' voice once more.

“What do you about him?” Tony asks, voice hollow and rough, and he doesn’t dare look up at Steve.

Not even when Steve says, “He’s HYDRA, a conditioned soldier. That the Winter Soldier is responsible for numerous deaths worldwide. Tony…”

“I’ve heard of him.” Tony doesn’t look up and continues to stare at his hands. “If I decide to help you, all cards has gotta’ be on the table.”

The silence that fills the space between is too long and thick; Tony doesn't dare look up. Tony thinks that Steve might have fallen asleep.

Somewhere in between, a nurse comes in to adjust Steve’s IV line, jots down notes on his chart all while Steve remains unmoving on his bed and Tony’s gaze remains unwavering on the band on his finger.

“I think HYDRA and the Winter Soldier had a hand in Howard and Maria’s deaths,” Steve says in what feels like _hours_ later, voice remarkably even, and Tony knows – how he _knows –_ that it’s all damn front.

Tony nods slowly, and brings a hand up to his eyes when the tears fall and it isn’t because he had missed his chance in seeing Bucky and helping him from the get-go, it isn’t because Happy is still recovering in the hospital, or the fact that Steve had just outright told him what he should have told him all those years ago, a secret that would have saved them both so much heartbreak, so many losses and so much collateral damage.

Hearing the words now, no matter how _pointless,_ seems to make it all worth it.

(Steve was never the bad guy; he was just trying to do his best. You always knew that.)

“You _think_ …” Tony murmurs with a tone that’s barely above a whisper and looks up to see Steve’s pallid and stricken expression.

“It wasn’t him, Tony,” Steve says, because defending Bucky is what he does, protecting those that matter to him is what Steve knows how to do best and oh so stubbornly. “You gotta understand – Bucky would _never_ ; _not_ Howard. I _know_ him. They did something to him, something real _bad_. It’s _not_ his fault.”

Tony nods and reaches up to press the heels of his palms against his eyelids. When he brings his hand down he looks at Steve who looks like he’d rather be anywhere other than the hospital bed. And for the longest moment, Tony takes a good look at the legendary Captain, watches how his chest moves with slow measured breathes, almost meditative in his attempt to remain calm, perhaps nervous, looking far too young and naïve under the swath of white and blue. Steve is looking at him like he’s preparing himself to be let down, like he’s waiting for anger, or some volatile reaction. Steve is looking at him and bracing himself for a fight over admitting something that he probably still feel he should have kept to himself.

Steve is begging him to see reason.

And maybe all those years ago, when the knowledge and realization had been far too raw (you lied, you lied, youliedliedlied!), Tony would have given him an equally explosive spectacle.

Time doesn’t heal.

It never does.

Tony knows this because despite his best efforts, to say that he can fully trust Steve back home would be a lie. That bridge had burned long ago, and things aren’t the way they’re supposed to be. Not fully.

And god, how Tony wishes, so many times and in moments like _this_ that they should have done so many things differently. Steve’s face morphs and he sits up straighter and Tony realizes it’s because he’s coming apart in front of him; trembling hands come up and brush away the tears that _refuses_ to stop forming.

“Give me a minute, buddy. This is a lot to comprehend,” Tony mutters and tries to reign his shit together.

Except he can’t.

Not right now anyway.

“I’m so sorry, Tony…” Steve says and _means_ it.

Tony looks up at him once more, through the haze of his grief and regret at everything they could have been, at their ruined friendship and trust, the collapse of a team and an empire that indeed would have been so strong, a beacon of hope to many, at the fact that they could have been so much better. if not so much more.

“I believe you…” Tony says and doesn’t pull away when Steve reaches out to press a hand against the back of his neck. “I’ll help you find him. _We_ will find him. And when this is all over, I’ll tell you why I appreciate your honesty. I’ll tell you _everything_. You have my word.”

The slow glow of Steve’s growing smile and relief makes it all worth it. “All right; I can wait…”

\--

When Tony lands on the landing pad of his Malibu home, he finds Rhodey standing in the glass deck, raising his hand up in greeting and a small wave. Tony waves back as the landing deck opens up to lower him to the workshop, the armor peeling off and seeping into his bones as Tony hops off the pad just as Rhodey’s feet appears on the stairwell beyond the glass wall.

Tony gets about a minute to tug a sweater over his t-shirt as Rhodey punches his six digit keypad and scans in his biometrics and doors open.

“You left so fast and so in a hurry, I was worried. How was DC?” Rhodey asks.

“Disastrous.”

“That data dump had caused a lot of serious issues and surge of investigations. If I’m being honest though, I’m more impressed by the finger Natasha gave the council.” Rhodey pulls a stool and sits heavily on it, gesturing for Tony to do the same. “So I got the invite to your boy band. Too bad SHIELD’s gone.”

“Avengers isn’t. I’m thinking of offering up the tower. There’s still room for last minute redesign. Most of the major repairs are almost done, anyway.  I’m getting a drink, you want any?”

“Nah.” Rhodey shakes his head and looks around the workshop.

Tony gives him his back as he heads for the kitchenette, pulling a cabinet open and snagging the hard liquor and two glasses anyway. He joins Rhodey on the work bench, tugging a stool and breaking the seal of the whiskey. He pours two glasses and chugs one down without really tasting it.

“You sure?” Tony offers, already pouring himself a second.

“You’re different,” Rhodey says. Tony hears it as an observation rather than an accusation.

“Of course I am. I’m from the future,” Tony says, throwing the truth right at Rhodey’s face as he tips his second glass of whiskey.

“I suppose that’s not just some fashion accessory then?” Rhodey nods at the ring on Tony’s finger, seemingly playing along.

“Nope.” Tony says, swallowing thickly. “I’m starting to really, _really_ wish that it is. Seeing as I, you know, can’t seem to find my way home. Or my timeline. Or whatever.”

The next drink is chugged down so viciously and is punctuated by the glass clinking on the surface of the workbench sharply.

“You’re serious,” Rhodey says, stiffening and back going rigid.

“Super serious, yes,” Tony says, and when he reaches for the bottle, Rhodey blocks his way. “Come on, man.”

“Give me a reason not to shoot you between the eyes and think you’re some impostor. Or alien or whatever the fuck – I’m a lot more open to a lot more things these days given everything that’s been happening.”

“Because you would have done that ages ago if you had even the slightest bit of suspicion that I am not _me_.” Tony gives up trying to get hold of the bottle and just picks up Rhodey’s glass and chugs the contents down. “Or detain me. To be honest, I’ve been trying to look for a good time to talk to you, but well, here we are. Wanna hear a long funny story?”

“I don’t have a choice,” Rhodey says, and reaches behind him to pull out his pistol, setting it on the work bench between them.

Tony stares at it for a long time and then starts from the beginning.

He doesn’t bother to pull back punches from Rhodey, not the way he had with Pepper. He tells him _everything_ that happens after the Mandarin, how London happens, and then the fall of SHIELD, how the Avengers remain together and how they function as a solid force combing through the earth and taking down the remaining active HYDRA operations. In doing that, he tells Rhodey how they encounter the twins, how he creates Ultron and how, in his attempt to study and possibly create something good had been the catalyst to something far more disastrous and sinister. He tells him about Sokovia which had paved the way to the Sokovia Accords. Tony tells him of the Civil War and what had resulted in his paralysis, tells him of Ross and the cluster-fuck that had followed with Steve, the Winter Soldier and Siberia, the Raft, Ross and how the world had taken the rogue Avenger’s proverbial finger as a reason to start war on the streets, mutants, heroes, super powered and not. Tony tells him of the rebels, of Steve eventually surrendering and the assassination attempt at the courthouse. He tells him HYDRA never truly died, that indeed, cutting one head off only sprouts another twenty.

Tony tells him how it gets so bad before it gets better. That eventually, they reach a resolution and the Avengers grow. He tells him how the Accords gets re-written, how they collaborate and implement a system that for the time being, _works_. It certainly had worked when Thanos came knocking down on Earth’s stratosphere.

Tony tells him about the gems, about Thanos’ gauntlet, about how they had managed to destroy it, Tony thinks. He tells him about the fire and carnage, about how he had felt those gems vibrate under Steve’s broken shield.

And how he suddenly finds himself back in time, and apparently had fallen through the portal that for him had happened almost a decade ago. How he doesn’t even _know_ for certain if his world is even _alive_ , if all their efforts, all the dead, had been worth it.

Rhodey is a statue in his chair and only moves to unlace his fingers from under his chin, gesturing for Tony to go on.

This is where Tony gets personal.

This is where Tony tells him that he and Pepper does not work out, that he _loved_ (still loves) Steve, that the betrayal of the Civil War had hit home far too much and changed him. He tells Rhodey about the tumors and failing heart, tells him about how he had been too scared to go without making it right for him, to give him the opportunity to walk again. Tony tells Rhodey about Extremis, how he’s not exactly right anymore, how he sees and hears things and because of it, Tony had done the far most extreme thing and suppressed his memories just so that he can do the job he’s been given and that is to always, _always_ protect the world.

He tells him about the mission in South East Asian belt and their first solid encounter with magic and time manipulation, tells him how he had been reduced to a little boy. And when he comes to, eventually, he undoes the damage.

“Because you only get married once, buddy. I’ve fucked up so many things for you. And I couldn’t remember the important bits. The ones that matter. And everything that did matter happened when I was twenty. I met your family for the first time, remember? I also OD’d before your tour.” Tony says, looking at his hands. “I couldn’t ruin _that_ for you too. Not as your best man. So I undid the programming, and, well, it was a nice wedding. I still feel I could have given a better speech.” Tony chuckles without humor. “You have a daughter and she is, without exaggeration the most beautiful human being on the planet. You are happy in my world. And I finally understood what that must feel like when…”

Tony feels himself trail off, nose wrinkling as he looks away and clears his throat, reaching forward for the bottle. He says nothing as the weight of Rhodey’s gaze remains on him, says nothing still even after he downs two glasses and wishes, not for the first time, to feel the familiar press of warmth on his back, to feel fingers dance over his chest and lips press against his temple. Never had Tony felt a yearning so strong than he does in that very moment, a need so raw that it feels like his bones are being scraped, and his chest cavity feels empty and lacking. If he wants to be over dramatic, he’d say it’s almost like having his arc reactor ripped out of his chest, that shuddering loss and gradual build-up of shortness of breath as his heart slowly gets pierced by the shrapnel.

And he can’t do anything except stare at the ring on his finger and wallow in stupid self-pity because I miss you, I miss you so, _so_ much and it’s getting to a point where I question _why_ do you even love me, and maybe if you didn’t love me the way you did, maybe this little trip back in time wouldn’t even be so, _so bad_. I don’t even know if you’re okay, if you _made it_.

“Who put the ring on you, if not Pepper?” Rhodey asks, almost a little stern and firm in his questioning.

“James Buchanan Barnes.” Tony says and closes his eyes when he hears Rhodey shift so fast, and the sound of the pistol’s safety shifts. When he looks up, he sees rage on Rhodey’s face.

“Don’t even fucking try to convince me that after all this, all that, any of this _garbage_ is true.” Rhodey says, voice so icy cold that Tony can’t think of a time he’s heard his best friend’s voice shake this way. “This is bullshit; I’m gonna ask one more time. Who are you working for and where the fuck is Tony?”

Tony wishes he had an answer.

He really, really does.

But he doesn’t and all he can do is stare at the barrel of the gun and think of how much a mercy it would be if he fires it.

“You have no idea how much I wish everything said was a lie. If you have any doubt in you, Colonel, don’t hesitate” Tony murmurs, and closes his eyes. He doesn’t think when he leans into the barrel, feeling the cold metal press against his forehead.

Tony knows he’s threadbare at this point.

So when he feels the gun tremble against his temple, when he hears Rhodey curse and his arm swipe the contents of the workbench off to the side in a crashing and splashing mess, Tony doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t judge and simply watches Rhodey _fight_ everything in him that tells him that Tony is still Tony.

Tony wishes he can take comfort in Rhodey’s near spot on gut instincts, but is unable to when he sees the tension lining his jaw, the grief in his eyes and the rawness of the emotions rising to the surface.

It almost feels like waking up after that one terrible over dose; Rhodey is looking at him the same way.

“Let’s say you’re not even lying, that all this _bullshit_ is even remotely true, I want you out of here! I want you gone! I want my best friend back, the one that. Belongs. _Here_.” Rhodey says, and points at him. “Anywhere you fucking go, _I go_. Or so help me, I will _end_ you if you protest.” Tony can only nod. “I will take a leave of absence without pay if I must until this entire shit-storm is over, but I stay _here_. With _you_. I don’t know you, I don’t trust you. So until a time comes – _if it comes -_  that you figure this shit out, you don’t leave my line of sight.”

“Done.” Tony says and watches Rhodey gives him one last look before he puts the gun away. “If it’s all the same to you, let me at least begin working on upgrades for the Iron Patriot. Something with a back-up power source so that when you fall – _if you fall –_ you don’t –“ Tony looks away and clears his throat. “Let me do _that_ much for you _at least_ , please. I’ll walk you through it, you understand robotics, and you can understand the plans and the system. Just please let me do this for _you_.”

The silence is long but Tony thinks he sees a blossom blooming on the olive branch between them when Rhodey nods and stiffly says, “Fine.”

 

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am breezing through certain things and time-skipping a little bit if only because this story is mostly going to be about people’s interactions as opposed to the politics and science of the world shifting. It has taken a long time to make this decision but here on forward, I think it is safe to say that it’s going to AU post Winter Soldier.
> 
> Also, heads up, very strong possibility of a may be one-sided StOny here. For now anyway. Just a warning. I will NOT be putting the StOny tag until there is actualy concrete StOny moments present. I mean, it may just not happen, or it may -- WITH HOW THIS ENTIRE UNIVERSE HAS BEHAVED WHILE BEING IN WRITING PRODUCTION, I CAN'T TELL ANYMORE OK DFUJSNKFDSFSD
> 
> Thank you for reading :)


	4. Total days since arrival: 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am my own beta -- I proof-read all by myself so I may miss some stuff. This is an ever-green story and is continuously being re-read and edited for typos/errors/etc. Tags to be added as the story moves forward. There is a possibility of a one-sided StOny romance.
> 
> A reminder that day count in the chapter title will illustrate total number of days from the start of one chapter right through the end.

 

 **“Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.”**  
**― J.M. Barrie , Peter Pan**

 

True to Tony’s word, he starts developing Rhodey’s suit and walking him through the plans and upgrades. It takes Rhodey two days to get his leave of absence and another to pack a bag with the intention to temporarily move into Tony’s Malibu home. Tony welcomes him with open arms and pretends that the stiff suspecting presence that watches him like a hawk doesn’t get to him. It’s justified, Tony thinks and the more open he is with his intentions the Rhodey, as he predicts, the more Rhodey relaxes subconsciously.

Between working on the suits and fabricating additional pieces to work into the suit, Tony develops several algorithms to track the Winter Soldier for Jarvis to work with, his holographic presence a welcome and a magnificent ice breaker to Rhodey’s usually lurking presence. Had it not been for the posh and polished presence of his AI, Tony thinks that Rhodey’s suspiciousness of him would have driven him batshit insane.

(But this is okay. You have to compromise.)

It goes on like this, between War Machine’s upgrades and Tony trying to track down the Winter Soldier, days turning to a week and then weeks. Tony opts to work on Stark Industries business matters remotely, minimizing his public appearances just to stay out of trouble and avoid rousing suspicions as it is. He keeps himself contained so that he can be in control of his own environment.

The promise to _fix_ this remains fresh and is a constant red light in the center of Tony’s mind; so Tony finds the time to look up Stephen Strange and feels his heart shatter when he sees that the Neurologist remains a well sought out practicing specialist in New York, and nothing like the Sorcerer Supreme that Tony had come to know him personally as. Strange is all stoic and distant razz, jazz, intelligence, drive and assholery rolling into one; no Cape of Levitation, no blue monk-like robes, no Eye of Agamoto, _nothing_.

Tony suddenly remembers the feeling of having Obadiah’s hand in his chest, slowly pulling the arc reactor as the shrapnel began to crawl its way to his heart, cutting through flesh. He remembers that feeling so poignantly right then, when he goes as far as to taking a look at Stephen Strange doing what he had done best, picking at someone’s brain mid-surgery through one of the security cameras in the operating theatre. His one sure shot at getting back home is officially _gone_. Because Doctor Strange hadn’t lost the use of his hands yet and Tony finds himself feeling absolutely _wretched_ for wondering _when_ that particular timeline would line itself up, considering everything seemed to be happening faster than they should.

Nothing happens.

Not in weeks.                                                                                                     

(You are being selfish because you are so utterly desperate; you would never wish ruin upon man, never wish loss of something dear to anyone, because you know exactly _how_ that feels like and it is not something you’d wish upon even the worst of your enemies. Desperation can make a person do surprising things; you are the embodiment of complete desperation.)

And Tony remembers thrashing an entire Ironman suit with a wrench, and didn’t care that Rhodey had watched him shriek and rage, allowing himself to express his helplessness, something so, _so_ deep and so broken that it had stunned the Colonel to a muted state. Tony smashes, and _smashes_ , breaks apart circuitry, wiring and metal, his arm swinging down with purpose and punctuated by the keening sound that he had managed to wrestle to a tightly sealed box since his arrival, two months already feeling like a lifetime.

Once the suit had laid in pieces all over his workshop floor much in a way Tony feels on the inside, fine metal and chips and glass and circuitry like a rainbow and gleam of sharp edges, Tony had pushed his hair back, his throat raw and his eyes wet, gulped down mouthfuls of cheap Jack before he carefully starts to clean up the mess he had made, picking up the broken pieces in an attempt to also gather the pieces under his ribcage. Catharsis, or some other shit – what does one even call this?

Somewhere in the middle of that, Rhodey joins him and Tony can say nothing but shake his head at him, blinking away the moisture that he stubbornly _refuses_ to allow to fall this entire time. 

Tony remembers, distantly, how Strange had mentioned going to Nepal in search for his treatment and instead of a solution, he had found purpose. Tony remembers Wong and something about an address in Hong Kong during that cluster fuck of a mess that had been Thanos’ attack. Goddamnit, Tony can’t remember specifics, no matter how hard he tries; he wishes he had paid more attention. He _should_ have paid more fucking attention, goddamnit, _goddamnitgoddamnitgoddamnit!_

He mulls the idea of just looking for the current Sorcerer Supreme himself, thinks that he shouldn’t wait any longer before the continuum gets more disturbed than it already is. The thought comes to him the following day, once the mess of the smashed Ironman suit had been cleaned up and he’s watching dawn creep up on the horizon, nursing a cup of coffee that he had made and hadn’t touched since. He thinks of the trip, thinks of Rhodey and Pepper and his promise to set things right, thinks of just getting. The. Fuck. Home.

Except, Steve Rogers comes knocking on his door, looking like nothing of what he had been that day in the hospital, in jeans and a bomber jacket, with a duffel bag in hand and looking a little displaced. Tony finds himself at a loss for words, not expecting this sudden visit, because when he thinks about it, like, _really, really_ think about it, Tony doesn’t think he can recall a time he ever had an _unannounced_ visit from Steve Rogers. His Steve had been overly polite, proper, all manners and thinking of others’ time before wasting it, always letting him know ahead of time, or at least alerting him in some way beforehand. If Tony had walked into his office, estate or any of his properties to find himself surprised that Steve is there, usually, it is Tony’s fault for not really listening when JARVIS or Friday had alerted him. It isn’t because they hadn’t been close, but there had been a boundary of respect between them, and no matter how Tony had danced around that boundary, no matter how much he had poked it with a stick, Steve had been steadfast and unbending, even in the moments when his eyes would soften and a small smile would dance around the corners of his lips.

So this is… _new_.

Tony thinks that the surprise must have been all over his face, that his pause takes too long because in seconds, Steve looks like he had made a bad decision by coming unannounced.

Now _that_ look _,_ the one where Steve’s chin wrinkles because trying not to press his lips to a thin line, a sign of anxiety or some sort of discomfort at something he probably hadn’t thought of or planned too fully, that look, Tony is a _little_ familiar with. That look had been directed at him on numerous occasions, because Steve thinks that Tony had been unprepared. Or so Steve had thought.

“Is this a bad time?” Steve asks, shifting his weight to his other leg.

“At my house? Cap, it’s _never_ a bad time. Come on in!” Tony says, and pulls the door wide open, a grand gesture of welcome to a man who really looks like he hasn’t regained his footing. “Rhodey is in here… somewhere. Can I get you something? Beer? OJ? Uh, what else do I have – JARVIS?”

JARVIS materialises out of nowhere and it will never stop getting old, how Steve can still get easily startled by technology. Tony watches as Steve blinks and clears his throat, possibly an attempt to quell the startle that must have caused goosebumps to break on his skin.

“We have most of the carbonated beverages in house and if not, I can make arrangements to facilitate any requests you may have, Captain Rogers.” Jarvis says, blinking and tilting his head to the side just the tiniest bit as Steve recovers from his surprise.

“Projection. Gives my AI a little more personality. Isn’t JARVIS great?” Tony asks, and is painfully reminded of Bucky’s first run in with Friday, when he watches Steve tentatively brush a hand against Jarvis’ shoulder, only for his fingers to pass through the very real hologram and ‘physical look’ of Tony’s AI.

JARVIS giving Steve the that’s-rude look is enough to make the lump in Tony’s throat swell about as big as basketball. Tony tears his gaze away from _that._

This is going to be a disaster.

(It’s too much – you remind yourself, the way James had reminded you for _years_ , that Steve is _not_ Bucky.)

“Wow, Tony.” Steve says, and smiles in that unguarded way of his, the one that belays how genuinely impressed he is. “This is really great! Thanks, JARVIS, I’ll uh – not right now, but I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

Tony watches as JARVIS inclines his head and disappears without another word.  This is when Tony turns around and gestures with a finger, heading straight for the sitting area and plopping himself down on the sofa, gesturing for Steve to do the same. From where they sit, the view of the rocky edge that Tony’s house is built upon and the stretch of ocean is clear, the cloudy afternoon bathing the entire clean cut design of his estate in warm California sunshine, making glass and marble and the baby grand piano gleam under soft golden light. When Steve sits and the sun hits the back of his head, he looks like there is a halo glowing upon the back of his head, his hair appearing golden and his eyes bluer.

(It’s not as blue as James’ – this one will have green in them. It’s not the same.)

Steve is careful, movements measured and he looks like he had no idea what the fuck he’s doing.

Tony normally would poke and prod at this, his old self taking gleeful advantage of this kind of vulnerability. But he is not that kind of man anymore, and hasn’t been for a long time. Tony doesn’t think he even had the energy anymore to even _try_.

“New motorcycle?” Tony asks instead, breaking the ice.

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve says, reaching up to rub the back of his head. The gesture, at this stage, still hasn’t lost its disarming boy next door charm. Tony finds himself just _staring_ with amazement at how ridiculous it is, and watching Steve meet his gaze and clearing his throat, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. “The last one didn’t really make it after I kind of uh, used it as a projectile to take down a fighter jet.”

“You absolute criminal.” Tony says and chuckles to himself, not because of Steve’s surprised expression, but because he is going to have really get himself used to _this_ Steve and quick. Fate is amusing in her torment, isn’t she? “Are you passing by or…”

“Passing by. Following a couple of leads locally. Last time we met, you said…” Steve clamps his lips shut, staring at the edge of the table for a while.

Tony gets it.

He really does.

“Can you _really_ trust me, Steve?” Tony asks, slow and soft, and is a little startled when Steve looks up at him imploringly. “ _Can_ you?”

“I want to.” Steve says and blinks his gaze away, taking a moment before he sucks in a deep breath and looks Tony straight in the eye, unflinchingly. “I believe I can.”

Tony nods slowly and sits in silence for a long time, quickly weighing his options, before he stands. “Let me show what I’ve been doing.”

They head to the basement, where Dummy is moving back forth in re-stacking boxes to make space for a few new equipment Tony had called in for to build and assemble. He had shipped a few of his cars out to make more room in anticipation for the units that will be, if the time does come, responsible in programming and creating the Extremis virus. On the far end, next to his displays of several Ironman suits, is War Machine, being repainted and running test diagnostics for the new boosters Tony had installed two nights ago. Tony watches Steve look around from the corner of his eye as he pulls up holographic keyboard on the workbench, pulling out his algorithms and whatever hits on the possible Winter Soldier he may have had over the course of the week since it had gone live. Screens pop up everywhere, displaying multiple shots taken via satellite, traffic cameras and road radars. Tony is aware that most, if not a good portion of it, are only hits of people who _look_ similar.

“That’s…”

“Not all.” Tony says, and drags a swivel chair as he focuses on typing code line after code line. “I’ve created an algorithm that will pull out any hits that even has a remote 15% facial match to James Buchanan Barnes and the Winter Soldier from any angle, _anywhere_. So most of what you’re seeing isn’t necessarily him. The algorithm is meant to track these individuals, where they are, where they’re headed, their activities. Had to keep it broad because well, if the Winter Soldier doesn’t want to be found, he _won’t_ be. I haven’t had the chance to do refine this yet, but well, not time like the present, with you here, right?”

Face after face that remotely resemble Bucky in any shape or form populates, window after window, some blondes, some bald, some brunettes, some ginger, eyes of all colors, men and some women of all ages.

“You can find anyone with this thing?” Steve asks, staring.

“My satellites do most of the leg work. But public cameras help. Before you start the whole moral spiel about what I’m doing and spying on people’s privacy, let it be known that I’m aware. Of how many laws I’m actually breaking just by ‘borrowing’ public security camera footage and feeds.” Steve miraculously doesn’t say anything; Tony thinks it’s a great start and wonders how long it will last. “So if we narrow it down, by age, eliminate visible face marking, piercing, tattoos, race,” One window after the other starts shutting down, “we get…”

Tony pauses, and looks up at fifty screens of men that even remotely resemble James Buchanan Barnes from all across the globe. A good quarter resembles the clean and polished sergeant from the forties, the remaining resembling something close to what they’re looking for. Tony looks at all the faces before him, notes the long dark hair of varying lengths, the different features, and the myriad of eye colors.

There is no familiar blue; no shade of that winter lake that Tony is so familiar with.

(None of them is your James.)

“Anyone can use any of these shots, these innocent people to crucify the Winter Soldier. The resemblance alone…”

Tony closes his eyes and looks away, picking up the smart phone he had been tinkering with a few days ago. He taps the screen, pulls out the keyboard and starts keying in the new codes he had just written into the phone. He watches as JARVIS syncs the results and then waves the screens off. “Here.” Tony hands the phone over to Steve. “Consider it a mini and more portable version of what you just saw. This phone is connected to my servers and should give you access to the updated database at anytime. In case you decide to still hit the road and follow up on those local leads you mentioned. Questions?”

Steve takes the phone in his hand, staring at it for a long while. Tony’s gaze doesn’t linger on him when Steve pockets the phone into his jacket. “Why would you go this far? For a virtual stranger?”

“I have my reasons.” Tony murmurs, dropping his weight back on the swivel chair, flicking a glance at the arms moving around War machine.

“What’s wrong with your heart?” Steve suddenly asks, and holds Tony’s gaze, unflinching.

“Why do you ask?” Tony responds, tilting his head and watches as Steve lifts one shoulder up in a half shrug.

“I have my reasons.” Steve answers and Tony thinks that this is it.

This is his opportunity to just come clean, to admit who he is and just avoid the clusterfuck of mistrust when one says half-truths or nothing at all. Tony looks down at his fingers, looks at the band on his left ring finger for a long time and smiles sadly. He already knows where the road of half-truths would lead him to, would lead the team to and what the end game is. He knows what gets tanked in the end, and Tony really needs to stay afloat in this world, just until he finds a way home.

“I fixed it.” Tony says, swallowing thickly as he stands and rubs a palm over his sternum, where on some days, he still feels the weight and presence of the arc reactor. “Kind of worked. Physically, anyway.” Tony reaches down for the hem of the MIT sweatshirt he had one and tugs it over his head, catching briefly how Steve’s eyes widen when what he sees is nothing but smooth scarless skin, the familiar circular blue glow gone. “Heart is good as new, no more limited breathing capacity. That’s why you’re asking, right? You can no longer hear the faint hum of the arc reactor?” Steve nods after a while, eyes still fixed on the center of Tony’s chest. The stare makes Tony feel vulnerable, because it had been Steve who had almost smashed his chest wide open, too. He looks away sharply, giving Steve his back and tugging the sweatshirt back on. “I’m not who you think I am, Steve.”

“Then help me understand.” Steve says and carefully lowers himself down on a stool.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Tony says, shaking his head and shrugging. “You’d call me a liar.”

“I’ve seen aliens come from a hole in the sky. I’ve seen my world disappear in what feels like overnight, only to wake up in a future that I still don’t quite understand. I’ve seen things, _abominations_ that should never be allowed to walk the surface of the earth. I’ve seen those abominations _survive. Honestly_ , Tony, _try_ me. Just now, I saw the physical form of your AI that had he been on the street, I wouldn’t have known he isn’t _real_.”

“Well when you put it _that_ way…” Tony chuckles mirthlessly.

“Try me, Tony.” Steve says, and Tony watches as the blue-green of his eyes soften with something that he isn’t quite sure what to do. “I know we started off on the wrong foot, and I admit to being half the reason we seem to always –“

“—be at each other’s throat?” Tony asks.

“Yeah.” Steve smiles warily, and rubs the back of his head.

“I don’t exactly make it easy, don’t I, Steve?” Tony says, nervously fidgeting with the ring on his hand under the worktable.

“Not before after the battle of New York, no. But you’re different… you feel different, you sound different, you _look_ different and I’m not – I’m not just saying physically. It’s…“ Steve is looking into Tony’s eyes, leaning on his elbows on the work table, searching into amber depths for something he can’t quite name. Tony watches as Steve tilts his head, as a pinch forms between his eyebrows the deeper he tries to look into Tony’s eyes, like he’s fishing for something the dark and his fingers are closing on nothing but air. “I can’t explain it.”

“I admit to having an agenda.” Tony says and swallows, as he watches something in Steve stiffen with discomfort. “A personal agenda, rather, as to why I want to find Barnes. I am aware of the Super Soldier programming; that data dump Natasha did isn’t exactly her most refined work. There had been traces of it in the dump, enough to prove what HYDRA is capable of, but not enough to help reverse the programming if need be. Barnes was made into a tool to topple down governments and individuals that HYDRA had deemed a threat to their existence. Howard Stark was one of those individuals and Maria Stark is merely collateral damage. You’ve seen the footage. _I’ve_ seen footage.” Tony can see the color leaving Steve’s face, can see the sharp cut of his jaw from how he must be grinding his teeth. “I’ve got a cure for him, Steve. Barnes.” Tony brings a hand up to his chest and rubs the center of it. “And it is going to _work_. Because, nobody, should ever feel like they have no autonomy over their own decisions, their actions, their mind. I know what that feels like, to be forced to do something you don’t want. To be doing something under the pretense of something great and good. Stane, Afghanistan to name a few.”

“Those were beyond your control.”

“This is beyond his too. I get it, Steve. I’m over the fact that it’s his hands that killed my parents. I have had _years_ to process that.” Tony admits, not looking up from his hands.

“So you’ve known all this time? You’ve known, even from the get go that the Winter Soldier had been Bucky? All these years?”

“I’m not from around _here_ , Steve.” Tony says and looks up at then, watching as Steve blinks and pieces the puzzle. Tony can see how Steve practically takes every word that had left his mouth and turn it around until it had made sense.

In seconds, Steve looks about as pale as paper, face measurably blank, and lips pressed to a thin line. Funny, Tony thinks, how capable of expression Steve really is. Steve reminds him of how he had felt that time, in Sibera.

(Don’t bullshit me Rogers, did you know?

Yes.)

“Not from around here.” Steve parrots, tone carefully even and spine straightening like he’s gearing for a fight and beatdown.

“I’m not from this timeline. I’m not the Tony who you had butted heads with just weeks ago on the Hellicarrier. I’m over fifty years old, I fell through that wormhole around the same time another one had opened up in mine and here I am. Stuck. Trying to find my way home and only encountering dead ends so far.” Tony tilts his head to the side, giving Steve another shrug. The saying that with practice comes ease is a lie in this case; this may be the third time he’s spouting out this from-another-timeline spiel, but it doesn’t make it any remotely easier whatsoever. “How’s that for _try me_?”

“A little much, I’ll admit.” Steve says, everything about him about as tight a cocked bowstring.

“Can I add a little more?” Tony asks, both eyebrows rising in an attempt to be funny, an attempt to be nonchalant, all false bravado when what he really wants to do is bury his face in his arms and just _be_ the lost three year old he actually feels like.

“Go big.” Steve nods, tilting his chin up a little higher.

Tony opens his mouth to speak, but silence only spills past his parted lips. It catches Tony off guard, the silence, the slow puffs of breath that only increases the wetness and stickiness in his lungs and the back of his throat. Of all the times Tony had mulled this over, it had to be _now_ , in this very moment, where it hits him right between the eyes that what if there is just no way back? What if this is it, he’s stuck here, with no access to the Sorcerer Supreme, with an entire and a couple of hundreds of galaxies to search for the Infinity Stones. What if he can’t go home?

And it’s like feeling the force and impact of Thanos’ backhand against the side of his head all over again, the sharp pain and blinding searing white behind his eyelids as Tony carefully lowers himself on the stool, cradling his hand on his lap and twisting the ring around his finger over and over again, his one and only reminder of what might be nothing more than a distant memory and an unattainable reality. Tony feels his head spin with checklists of where to look, who to find, where to start, checklists that he had already gone through, theories he had already explored, over and over again until he shuts his eyes and hears the sound of his name _tearing_ past the throat of the man that had become his entire world, tenors of his names’ syllables cutting through fire, blood, bodies and smoke.

“Tony?” Steve says, a hand on his shoulder.

The world stills and when Tony opens his mouth, he says, “You will not stop me from helping him. You can’t. I will give him the opportunity to make his own choices, to offer him any assistance he may need and if that means trying to hide from me, from _you_ , if that means him wanting to be left alone, then so be it. His wishes will trump your needs, Steve, I need you to understand that and what that can mean. I share this information with you as a courtesy, a favor in return for your honesty.”

“For my honesty.” Steve punctuates.

“Yes.” Tony wrenches his hand away,  pushing his left hand between his knees and trapping it there to prevent his shaking hands from fiddling with his ring any further. “Your honesty.”

“Was I dishonest to you? Where you’re from?” Steve asks, blinking.

“In a way. We both were, I suppose. To each other.” Tony answers and stands up on slow shaky legs. “To be honest, in the long run, it doesn’t really matter. As your teammate, as your friend, I had kept my end of the bargain and have always watched your back. Always will. That’s not gonna change now, either, even if you’re not the Steve I know now. I mean you are, kind of, just – it’s weird. I’m not used to this.” Tony gestures between them with a careless wave of his hand. “I just pretend that I am.”

“So you’re a man out of time, too.” Steve concludes, watching his every move.

“I guess.”  Tony says, smiling ruefully. “Look on the bright side. I know exactly how you feel. Makes me wanna apologize on behalf of old me for being a dick about it. To you.”

“Why should I trust you?” Steve asks. “Why should I even believe you?”

“Don’t.” Tony says and turns while walking to the coffee maker, spreading his arms out at Steve. “Or do. I’m not going to lose sleep over it. It’s your choice. I’ve got one agenda, Steve, and that’s to get home where I belong, come hell or high water. And fix what I can in the middle. That includes your BFF.” Tony pours himself a cup of coffee then, and carefully takes a sip, the liquid tasting like ash on his tongue.

“Does it have something to do with the ring on your finger?” Steve asks, cold, almost uncaring in his tone and on point in his aim.

“And if it was?” Tony asks, turning and find that Steve had crossed the distance between them, and is standing right in front of him with nothing but two feet separating them both. It takes Tony _everything_ inside Tony to remain still and not startle, when he feels the edge of the table press against his lower back. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me.” Steve points out and is everything an enemy doesn’t want to see stand in their way. This close, Tony is reminded of Steve’s towering height over him, almost by a full head. This close, Tony can see the tension coiling in Steve’s shoulder, going all the way down to his arms and into the forcibly kept relaxed hands. There are no fists here, but Steve might as well should have had them up on guard by his chin. This close, Tony can see that _focus_ he had come to admire, the kind that tells you that Steve isn’t going to stop, that he can do this all damn day.

Tony doesn’t think when he sets his coffee down and _yanks_ the ring of his finger. Doesn’t think when he tosses it up in the air in Steve’s direction, watches as reflex and muscle and controlled _power_ fully snap in response as he catches the thin band in his fist. Tony thinks he manages the hide the severity of the flinch, but knows it fails when he sees Steve’s expression falter just the tiniest bit.

(Even after all this years, Steve’s close proximity when he’s ready to fight and win a beat down _scares_ you.)

“That’s all I have left.” Tony says, and curses himself for sounding far too small despite his attempt to remain tall. Steve is staring at the inscription within, two words and Bucky’s initials. “You wanna keep that away from me, too?”

Something shifts.

Tony knows something _moves_ because Steve is looking at him with an expression he doesn’t quite recognize.

“I’m not your Steve, Tony.” Steve says, so, _so_ softly.

And that just punches a hole right through Tony’s chest. He looks at him like Steve is an other-worldy being, looks at the hunched shoulders, the distant look on blue-green eyes the lines lining his face that belays the storm that must be stirring in his chest, stretching it wide open like a chasm. It’s the words that make Tony stumble, the words that makes him feel the pull of gravity as Tony leans heavily against the edge of the table and _stares_ at Steve like he’s seeing a ghost.

(Fate, you unkind thing.)

“What did you say?” Tony chokes out and watches as Steve raises his eyes up from the workbench and holds his own gaze, unflinching, immovable and determined.

“I’m not _him._ ” Steve repeats, and there is iron behind his words. “I don’t know what I did, but I want to know. I want to know everything. Tell me _everything_ when and _if_ you’re ready. I’ll listen.  But for now, let’s find Bucky, let’s help him. And then maybe we’ll find a way to get you home. Does that sound like a good start for the both of us?”

“You’re trusting me blindly?”

“I wouldn’t call it that.” Steve says and carefully extends the ring back to Tony, the little band looking fickle between two of his large fingers. “I scare you, don’t I?” Steve says, and swallows. “I hurt you, didn’t I?”

“I’m not exactly guilt-free either of anything, Steve.” Tony is _breathless,_ as he stares at the offered ring that he wants nothing more than to yank away and slip back onto his finger where it belongs.

“But I still did it, didn’t I?” Steve asks, and Tony feels himself stunned to silence at the familiarity of the words, except where he’s from, it had not been Steve who had said them.

He takes the ring, and carefully slips it back on, and keeps looking at it, unable to look up at the man that is doing nothing but painfully remind of someone who is light years ahead in time and the possibility that Tony might just never see Bucky again.

“Can I safely assume we can work together towards a familiar goal without issues?“ Tony asks, carefully.

“Yes.” Steve nods. “If we can both agree on transparency, I do not see why we can’t work together. I think we can work quite well. I got you, for whatever it’s worth.”

(Stop. Please stop. Just stop.)

“All right then.” Tony says, cutting the conversation short because he can’t make himself continue or watch how this particular one progress when he’s feeling about as open as a raw nerve. “So. Logistics. Where I’m from, when you go on your manhunt, you had Sam Wilson with you. When is your rendezvous?”

“Oh uh, not for a few days. I was going to meet him in Nevada and take it from there.”  

“How do you feel about including Sam into the Avenger’s initiative?” Tony asks.

“He’s good people, more firepower, more eyes in the sky other than you and War Machine.” Steve nods. “Strategically, he is an excellent addition.”

“Let’s get that ball rolling then. JARVIS, if you would please let the proper channels know?”

“Of course, sir.” JARVIS chimes. “Message sent, sir.”

“Thanks buddy.” Tony turns to look at Steve. “You need a place to stay?”

“There’s a motel just outside of town -- what?” Steve asks when Tony openly rolls his eyes.

“I’m not stopping you if you wanna stay in a motel. But I’ve got rooms to spare and all the equipment you’ll need. After that mess with SHIELD, laying low here may be better than in public. Face it, Cap, you don’t exactly blend well into the crowd. Not with that shoulder to hip ratio.”

Steve looks at himself and then around the workshop, at the screens that continue to match the filter Tony had just placed on the hits and then back at Tony. “I don’t want to cause trouble.”

“You’re not.” Tony says and is surprised that he means it from the bottom of his heart when he reaches forward to press a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I promise.”

Steve’s smile is absolutely _incandescent._

\--

Steve isn’t sure what to make of things after the truth bomb had been dropped on him.

He also doesn’t get the time to truly digest it.

The weeks that follow are spent investigating leads that might seem plausible; while Tony’s algorithm continues to populate results from all across the globe, they remain unsuccessful in their search. Natasha comes and goes, dropping leads that Tony then expands his network’s reach on, both of their ears on the ground, going as far as validating rumors if need be.

The days turn to weeks and somewhere in the middle, Steve finds himself frustrated and accepting the missions to investigate and eradicate confirmed HYDRA facilities from the newly elected World Security Council with the official Avengers team. It takes two assignments for Tony to decide to relocate to the compound all together, to be closer to the team; Steve doesn’t miss the hesitance and incredibly well masked resistance to the suggestion by the council.

While they all work like a perfectly oiled machine, while they seem to communicate a whole lot better than the first time they had assembled on the helicarrier, Steve is not blind to the distance and slight quietness that is a walking contradiction to every opinion and assessment there is on Tony Stark. Everything about Tony is measured, from the lingering around the team post-battles and mission briefings or even during downtime in the compound. Steve hesitates to call it avoidance, and while Tony seems to have Rhodey attached to his hip nearly at all times, while they seem to get along really well, and better than most in the team, Steve still notices the distant look Tony gets on his face. He notices the pinch around the corner of his eyes when he watches the team interact, when he sees Natasha and Clint spar or on the rare occasions that Helen, Hill and Coulson happen to be around. Tony lingers for small talk, blooms like a flower in spring when there is tech-talk or theorems but otherwise retreats like a wilting flower in dry heat.

Steve doesn’t fault Tony on performance; Tony is at the top of his game as Ironman, misses nothing and someone Steve has gotten a little too comfortable in covering his back. There is no mainframe he can’t get into, no thing he can’t fix and no too large an object that his suit’s firearms can’t blow to kingdom come. Tony makes Ironman look like an art form, a dance that is not at all deadly, up until those repulsor rays are directed at you.

(You’ve taken to drawing those sharp lines, taken more into watching him closely.)

But Tony is distant. Remains so.

And Steve isn’t sure what he can do about that.

(It bothers you.)

After their first skirmish with their first HYDRA base, Tony had called Steve into his lab and had briefed him on a virus, the very thing that had helped him recover and independent of the arc-reactor. Steve listens to Tony break it down to him, watches him point at rotating holographic scans of a brain, as Tony demonstrates just what the virus will trigger, the after effects and how the waiting period varies from person to person. There is tightness to Tony’s frame, like it _wounds_ him to explain what can and will happen to Bucky once the virus is administered. It’s a brilliant solution, Steve thinks, and about as mind boggling as the Super Soldier serum. A part of Steve’s mind is urging him to be suspicious, tells him that all this is _too good_ to be _true_. And yet his gut is telling him the complete opposite. Steve knows he’s not completely deluded by desperation and need and guilt to find Bucky and get him out of whatever corner he’s been backed into. It’s not the virus aspect of it either. There’s been to many experimentation on humans lately, too many variables that cough out the most ridiculous disasters, all because of curiosity and thirst for power.

Steve’s gut doesn’t make him suspicious because there is no thirst for power here. There is no intellectual curiosity. No desperation for a superior human race or some misguided Nazi-esque vision.

It’s just Tony looking at him like he’s nothing more than empty vessel, worn, and frayed and god, Steve can see the stark difference between the man on the hellicarrier and the one sitting on the stool before him. It’s like getting hit between the eyes in that very moment and Steve finds himself rooted on the spot. He sees the age and grief, loss and so much palpable hurt in the depths dark eyes; everything else – the perfectly smooth skin, the thick head of hair and expensive haircut, the detailed grooming – is a front that Tony knows how to wear well.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Steve asks, slow and careful.

“The thing is Steve, there is no guarantee.” Tony says, sounding unsure. “I’m not going to lie to you, or him. Whether or not he accepts it is his choice alone. I’ll break it down for him, make sure he understands of course, with you present. It’s his call. It’s his body and his brain.” Tony looks at his hands again and swallows. “I believe it will work.”

The words lack the conviction and confidence Steve is so used to seeing and hearing. This man before him, with his slumped shoulders and crumpled face is the complete opposite of that.

“It worked for the Bucky in your world.” Steve says, an attempt to convince Tony more than it is to convince himself.

(Would you look at that.)

“It worked, yes.” Tony nods. “James was – he – “ Tony closes his eyes, his hands planting on his knees and knuckles going white as he _squeezes_. “There was an alien attack, portals and shit, kind of like New York. These insect-like creatures spat acid and it was a fight and, he was with you, he had your back and there was just – god, you were overwhelmed and he just – he didn’t _fucking think_ , just jumped in the line of fire or you’d be dead and he just – James just –“ Tony clamps his mouth shut, closing his eyes and swallowing, a pathetic attempt to keep calm, to compose himself. “He had your six. He got hit. And you know, the formula was meant to work immediately. But it didn’t. And he died.”

Steve doesn’t think he can feel much of his knees.

There are a few things in the world that can reduce him to a mess from within and one of them, is doubling the guilt that Bucky had died for his sake. Was it because he had been distracted? Could it possibly be that like that snowy day on the train, that Steve had been a second too late, _again?_ Steve can feel the weight of that kind of reality – just the thought of it, imagining that moment – tug down on his face. He can feel something swell at the back of his throat as he takes a step back to lower himself carefully onto a stool and nod numbly.

“O-Oh…” Steve manages to say and it’s all he _can_ say.

(What do you say when your best friend dies the second time covering for you, no matter how willing Bucky had been to jump in the line of fire? What do you say to something like _that_?)

“Extremis was administered before he had taken his last breath. But he flat lined. He died. It’s hard to resustitate someone when most of their chest cavity is dissolved…” Tony swallows. “Steve – I –“

“But you said it worked.” Steve _manages_ , unable to even keep the tremble in his voice. “Tony – _it worked, didn’t it_?”

“Yes.” Tony swallows, and nods. “It worked.”

“And he was okay? Himself, whole and HYDRA programming gone?” Steve confirms.

“Yes.” Tony nods again, like the gesture itself is a motion to ground himself from a memory that Steve can only imagine to be so, so gruesome. Imagining it alone had knocked the breath and thought out of him. “But Steve, you need to _understand_ that these things can happen. James can flat-line _again_. If he doesn’t want this, I am _not_ going to hand it over.”

“I understand.” Steve responds, hollow and feeling like he’s suspended in the air.

Because sometimes, you don’t want to relive the horrors you had been forced to live through. Sometimes, you just want the nightmare to end. There is no going back from the sins and blood one’s hands is soaked in and the Winter Soldier is one that is drowning in red. He will always be a wanted man, will always look over his shoulder. World governments will want his head on a pike; it’s been a witch hunt for the longest time, Steve knows it’s not going to stop anytime. Sometimes, the best way to atone for a soldier is to put a bullet between the eyes.

Sometimes the best way to rid the world of danger is put it six feet under.

(You’re not afraid of Extremis’ failure; you’re more afraid that Bucky won’t take it. You’re afraid that if you don’t find him fast enough, if he doesn’t remember enough, he’ll choose the most obvious option. You’re afraid that he might be already buried somewhere and that’s why you haven’t found him yet.)

Tony clears his throat audibly, waving away the current projections and pulling up something else. Steve finds himself staring at what looks like a small electronic device. “If James refuses Extremis, then this is plan B. Extremis was never on the table prior to that incident; James said that the sequence of coded words would only work if he _heard_ it. So this is a little device that can be surgically implanted right here,” Tony points at particular cortex of the brain, and Steve watches how two holograms merge, demonstrating the procedure. “and it should block out those words. I kept it broad and honestly, it made James deaf to most of Eastern Europe’s language, but, can’t be too safe, can we? James confirmed that it _works_. And if we find him, this is the arm I had re-designed for him when his got destroyed.”

Steve stares and continues to stare, using his fingers to rotate and tilt the projection this way and that.

“Must have taken a lot of force. I’ve seen that arm; it’s incredibly strong. I’d say it’s almost as strong as your suit, possibly more.” Steve murmurs.

“Yeah.” Tony says, without looking up at from his hands. It’s a gesture Tony draws comfort from, Steve realizes. In moments where Steve knows there’s more to the words than what is being said, he finds Tony staring at the ring on his finger.

(That longing – you understand it too well.)

“Hey,” Steve says, taking a careful step towards Tony and kneeling before him on the stool and carefully placing a hand on Tony’s forearm. The stiffening and forcibly suppressed recoil is present, and Steve knows, without a shred of doubt, that Tony _is_ afraid of him. And he’ll probably never know why. “We’ll figure it out. Whatever he chooses. Together. You’re not alone in this, Tony. I got you, okay?”

There is something in the expression Tony is directing at him that makes Steve’s throat go dry. It is bone deep desperation and hope dying all rolled into one, of hurt so profound and deep that Steve wants to shake the look out of him.

(You don’t like this. You don’t like this _at all.)_

It’s enough to make Steve feel inadequate and frustrated because god, what the hell did I do to you? What the flying fuck happened that you look at me like I’m the world’s biggest fool? Why do you look at me like that? I’m not _him!_ I’m not! I swear!

“We’ll see…” Tony says and pulls away like he’s been wanting to from the moment Steve had made contact. And like always, Tony puts distance between them. “So uh, I didn’t forget that thing you mentioned in the hellicarrier. I’ve gone ahead and gotten a head-start on our Thanksgiving dinner. We’re a little over a week away from Thanksgiving, right JARVIS?”

“That is correct, sir. Nine days to be precise.” JARVIS responds.

Tony is looking at Steve expectantly, and Steve can only remain fairly surprised that Tony even remembers something from months ago.

“You remembered…”

“I’m a busy man but not senile. Don’t let my age fool you.” Tony rolls his eyes. “Of course I remember; this is something you still want to do, right?”

“Yeah.” Steve nods and sucks in lungs full of air as some of the tension on his shoulders come undone. “Yeah, I do.” He watches as Tony waves off all the open displays and the lights around the workshop adjusts. “I’m no party planner, though.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here.” Tony waggles his brows and waves him over. “I’m starving. You mind if we relocate?”

“I’ve got left over lasagne if you want.” Steve offers, and pauses. “Or, rather, I’m _sure_ I have left over lasagne from last night’s dinner that I stashed away.”

“Oh, Steve’s lasagne~ Lead the way, Cap. Lights out, buddy.”

Later, as they sit in the common room, Steve listens to Tony justify why Chef Bautiste’s – a person Steve doesn’t really care for – turkey stuffing is the best in the entire East Coast. Steve sits through this conversation, watching Tony stuff his face with his lasagne and thinks that this slightly softer look, this slightly more relaxed Tony, is something he’d like to keep around for as long as he’s able.

(You draw him that night before you forget what genuine excited glee looks like on Tony Stark’s face; it is easily your favorite sketch of him so far.)

 

TBC

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so one sided StOny IS HAPPENING. That's it. Tags added.
> 
> I always struggled with writing Steve that is post CACW. But this Steve that is just post Avengers/TWS is a lot easier. I'm going to aim to write more Steve.
> 
> This is not an abandoned story. It's just that IRL has been brutal and well... yeah. Still writing.


End file.
